


sapphire secrets

by tonystarktrash



Category: Iron Man (Movies), Marvel, Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Aftermath of Torture, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon Divergence - Iron Man 1, Complicated Relationships, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Domestic Violence, Iron Man 1, James "Rhodey" Rhodes is a Good Bro, Maria Stark's A+ Parenting, Mild Sexual Content, Mutual Pining, One Night Stands, Parent Pepper Potts, Pepper Potts & James "Rhodey" Rhodes Friendship, Pregnancy, Resolved Sexual Tension, Secrets, Sharing a Bed, Tony Stark Has A Heart, Torture, Unplanned Pregnancy, Waterboarding, obadiah stane sucks eggs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-11
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-15 22:28:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 8
Words: 40,744
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28696224
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tonystarktrash/pseuds/tonystarktrash
Summary: Pepper wakes on the morning of her 30th birthday with a man’s arms wrapped loosely around her middle — which is quite the surprise, considering the fact she hasn’t had anyone in her bed in over a year. It’s hard to date when you work for the neediest man in the world, a man that requires collecting from seedy looking bars at 3 am, a man who needs to be reminded to eat, a man whose smile makes your feet stumble, your heart thud painfully in your chest. The very same man who is naked in her bed on the morning of her 30th birthday.tony stark spends the night with pepper potts. the following morning, he leaves for afghanistan. while he is missing, pepper discovers that she is pregnant.
Relationships: Happy Hogan & Tony Stark, James "Rhodey" Rhodes & Tony Stark, Maria Stark & Tony Stark, Obadiah Stane & Tony Stark, Pepper Potts & James "Rhodey" Rhodes, Pepper Potts/Tony Stark, Phil Coulson & Pepper Potts
Comments: 96
Kudos: 172





	1. Chapter 1

Tony had awoken that morning with every intention of attending that evening’s Apogee Awards ceremony. Usually, the very thought of receiving an award in person was enough to set his teeth on edge. He had dodged almost every single award ceremony he had been invited to since he was 21 years old — the total was probably nearing 200. He had even skipped the Oscars last year, even though he would have been attending only as a guest — still, there would have been cameras on him, he would have had to dress up, he would have had to smile — the same charming smile he plasters on his face every day as he swallows back vomit.

Tonight was supposed to be different. He had sat down at his desk earlier on in the week and written out a brief acceptance speech on a sturdy rectangle of cardstock that would fit perfectly in the inner pocket of his tuxedo jacket — a tuxedo he had gone into L.A. for a fitting for last month. That’s how committed to attending this ceremony he had been — instead of just rooting around in his, frankly, overstuffed closet, Tony had instead ventured into a city he actively despised with Pepper Potts’ fashion suggestions ringing in his ears.

So, he had woken up this morning feeling good (for once) and had moved the tuxedo from his closet to hang on the back of his door. He had carefully tucked the acceptance speech in the inner pocket, closing his eyes at the slip of red silk against his fingertips — a little splash of color on the inside of the suit that no one would know about but him. Then, he had patted the lapel of the suit with a grin and a promise to be back later before leaving his bedroom.

He had made it to his office at Stark Industries in one piece, despite chugging an extra large iced coffee on his way, which had required both hands off the wheel for several heart stopping moments — not for him, of course, but for his fellow drivers on the freeway that had watched in horror as the white Audi somehow changed lanes going over 85 miles per hour with a driver that seemed more focused on belting out Queen between gigantic gulps of iced coffee than keeping his hands on the wheel.

While at work, he had reviewed his itinerary for tomorrow’s trip — unfortunately, duty called, and he would be forced to fly out to Afghanistan for a week to flaunt Stark Industries’ newest weapon of mass destruction. Obadiah had outright refused to go in his place, insisting firmly that the generals out in the desert wouldn’t be sold on the Jericho missile unless Tony was the one to convince them. Tony had bullied Rhodey into coming as his wingman, and his best friend must have gotten Pepper Potts on the phone, because there’s no way Pepper would schedule his departure for 7 o’clock in the goddamn morning. James Rhodes, on the other hand, would do so with a devilish grin. However, Tony had a feeling that Rhodey’s grin would disappear once Tony spirited him away to his Dubai place halfway through the trip — a week, for fuck’s sake, it wouldn’t take that long to seal the deal, right?

Bored around lunchtime, Tony had skipped into Pepper’s office — well, perhaps not full-on skipping, but with a definite spring in his step — he really had woken up in a good mood this morning. Pepper had appraised him from where she sat behind her desk, telephone resting against her ear, French tip fingernails tapping against the plastic handset. She had raised her right hand and extended her index finger in the air, looking at him with serious emerald eyes. Tony had raised his own hand and mimed zipping his lips. Still, unable to simply sit down in front of her desk and wait, he had started to prowl around her office. To the left, where she had a small sitting area with a brown leather couch and a coffee table buckling under stacks of paperbacks that Pepper read on her lunch break. With a raised eyebrow, Tony had scooped up a potted orchid from the table, admiring the strange yellow flowers flowing outwards like a woman’s dress, with their small red petals extended to the sides like arms. Turning the pot around in his hands, Pepper snapping her fingers behind him in a feeble attempt to get him to quit it, Tony had searched for a label in the soil — perhaps a note from a new suitor? Pepper wasn’t dating anyone, so she said, anyway — and the thought of Pepper dating anyone that wasn't him always awakened something in the pit of his stomach, an animal that was vengeful and deeply wounded. He’d like to think of it as a lion, but it’s more like a raccoon. Or a cockroach.

But lately, there have been moments… He has known Pepper for over five years now, but their relationship has never been strictly professional. For Christssakes, she had pepper sprayed Happy Hogan in the face the first time Tony had laid eyes on her. She had barged into his office unannounced, a stack of papers held aloft (Tony later discovered it was a copy of the new budget he himself had crafted), face flushed, her copper hair furthering the illusion of a woman aflame. Tony had used the entire carton of coffee creamer in the mini fridge behind his desk, pouring it carefully into Happy’s eyes. The other man had smelled of French vanilla and spoiling dairy for the rest of the week. From then on, Pepper Potts had become Tony Stark’s personal assistant, ball-buster, ego-destroyer, and close friend. But in the past year or so, Tony has found his touch lingering whenever she offered him paperwork to sign, his fingers brushing against hers for a moment longer than they needed to. He had slowed down on the one-night stands, too — he hasn’t been with anyone in months.

Because when he finds himself wanting, he searches a crowded bar for long auburn hair, high heels with red leather backing, perfectly manicured fingernails tapping against the bartop, an extra dry vodka martini filled to the brim with olives held by slender, pale fingers. Then there’s the very confusing acute discomfort he feels at the thought of Pepper Potts dating.

Aha! Tony’s fingers had wrapped around the short wooden stick, the small label skewered at its end. Plucking the stick from the soil, he had nudged the label around to read what was written there. Except it hadn’t been written, it had been typed. _Happy birthday, Ginny! XOXO Mom and Dad._

Tony had felt like he had just swallowed a block of ice, fingers fumbling with the stick and the attached label, nearly dropping it as he attempted to shove it back into its hole in the soil. Gently, he had placed the orchid on the coffee table and walked away, his hands in his pockets. Pepper’s birthday — tomorrow, of course he knew that. Of course he did, but he hadn’t gotten her a gift. He has never purchased a gift for her directly, usually Pepper sent him an invoice a few weeks after the fact, and Tony had occasionally Googled whatever it was she had purchased for herself on his behalf, but never really paid much attention. He always threw in a few extra hundred dollars on top of what he owed her, though.

But now, when he has dreamt of dancing with Pepper in an empty ballroom, her head tucked under his chin, hair tickling against his lips — he knew he couldn't just chuck a check at her and call it a day.

Pepper had looked pained when he had turned to face her, perhaps worried that he had destroyed the orchid merely by looking at it — Tony has never been known for his green thumb. Bunching his hands in his pockets, he had strolled towards her, curving around the edge of her desk to stand behind her.

He had a feeling she was talking to Accounting, one of her monitors showed a complicated looking spreadsheet with a long string of numbers bolded in red text. Her other computer monitor, however, was open on a webpage featuring a stunning blue dress. Pepper had glanced out of the corner of her eye at him as he had leaned back casually on her floor-to-ceiling windows, arms now crossed over his chest, looking as though he had a thousand-yard-stare fixed on the door leading out to the hallway. When she returned her attention to the spreadsheet, Tony returned his attention to the dress.

 _Oh my fucking God. It’s backless._ Tony’s palms had started to itch at the very **thought** of Pepper’s bare skin against them — but there’s no way in hell he’ll ever see her in this dress. It was the type of thing she would buy in his name, though, which had given him the idea.

Bouncing out the door, he had given a confused Pepper Potts a cheery wave on his way out, and had driven to Tiffany & Co. in Santa Monica.

When he had returned home with the sleek white fabric handles of the small teal bag held in his fingers, Tony had planned on giving the gift to Pepper when he returned home from Afghanistan. He couldn’t miss out on tonight’s ceremony, after all, he had promised Rhodey he would be there to receive the award, since the other man was going to introduce him. They could make a night of it, Tony had insisted, magical things happened in Las Vegas. The last time the two men had been in Sin City together, Rhodey had drunkenly married a woman he had just met that night, and Tony had been there for the ceremony as Rhodey’s best man, and at the annulment in the morning as Rhodey’s best friend. Maybe this time, they’ll marry each other instead.

Tony had grinned at that idea as he had showered, shaved, and gotten into his tux. Mrs. Rhodes always said Tony was part of the family, she’d probably go along with it, and Rhodey would never be able to live it down — because Tony would always introduce him as his ex husband at any given opportunity.

A muffled buzz had issued from Tony’s duvet, and he had ended up picking up the entire thing and shaking it out over the floor until his cellphone had finally toppled out onto the rug.

A message from Rhodey: _where the fuck are you??????? ceremony starts in an hour??? nobody’s seen you._

Glancing down at the Bulgari watch on his wrist, Tony had winced. Shopping had taken up valuable time — in fact, as he had walked through the doors of Tiffany & Co., the engines of his private jet had started to roar on the tarmac. There was absolutely no way for him to make it there in time.

His thumbs had moved over the keypad in a blur: _hold your horses, cowboy. be there soon. yeehaw xoxox._

And he had totally meant it — well, soon was maybe an exaggeration at this point, but Tony had slipped the cellphone into his pocket and made his way to the door, jaw set and mind focused on getting himself to the airfield as fast as humanly possible.

But then, as his hand had wrapped around the doorknob, his gaze had landed on the small teal bag resting on top of his dresser. _Pepper’s birthday is tomorrow._ Without thinking, he had reached out and snatched the bag up.

* * *

And now he stands at her front door, his heart racing, brown eyes hidden behind dark lenses even though the sun had set over an hour ago. Reaching up with his free hand, he nudges his black bowtie, feeling like a moron. It’s the night before her birthday, she could be out with friends — she **should** be out with friends, it’s what Tony would be doing. Hell, his birthday usually takes over the entire month of May, with not a sober night spent until midway through June. But Pepper Potts is not Tony Stark. _This fucking bowtie is choking me._ Letting out a strangled noise, Tony’s fingers hook under his starched white collar, trying to pull it away from his neck. _I am sweating._ He can feel his shirt sticking to his back, there’s probably an unseemly line of transparent fabric pressed against the column of his spine. Even more reason to turn around, get back in the car, drive to the airfield, and beg Rhodey’s forgiveness in three hours.

Instead, he reaches out and knocks on Pepper Potts’ front door. He has never been to her house before. It’s in a suburban neighborhood he hasn’t even heard of — her front lawn is neatly manicured with flowerbeds on either side of her black front door, her bungalow is painted a serious grey with white trim. He strains to hear footsteps advancing towards the door, he’s also tempted to lean to the right and peer through the window beside the front door, though he doubts that he’ll be able to see past the thick curtains pulled across the window. She’s not home, surely. It’s the night before her birthday.

The door swings open, and Pepper Potts stands before him in her pajamas. Tony blinks. Her pajama pants are patterned with Winnie the Pooh, his head stuck in a jar of honey. Her light blue shirt says **Oh, Bother.** Tony is speechless — in all his fantasies of Pepper, he had never accounted for her pajamas. Now he is most thoroughly smitten — _Oh my God, what if she has more? What if there are, like… Eeyore pajamas in her closet?_

“Mr. Stark?” Pepper, to her credit, manages to contain her horror to her eyes, her lips curve up in a strained smile. “I wasn’t… Are you okay?”

Code for _are you drunk?_ Because why else would Tony Stark be standing on her doorstep at 8 o’clock at night when he is supposed to be in Las Vegas accepting a very prestigious award?

Tony lifts the bag into view. “I wanted — uh… Happy birthday?”

Pepper’s mouth drops open — she’s not wearing lipstick, in fact, she’s not wearing any makeup at all. Tony wants to rip his sunglasses off of his face so that he can take in the sight of her unobstructed, so that he can see each and every freckle scattered across her cheeks. Instead, he keeps his cool, holding the bag out in front of him like it’s a shield and Pepper is a very angry dragon gearing up to let out a roar of flame.

She instead steps back, her feet bare, and opens the door wider with a bemused expression on her face.

“Come in, of course, come in.”

Tony steps over the threshold, feeling very much like a vampire, and as much as he would like to hide behind his sunglasses tonight, he carefully removes them — he wants Pepper to be able to look into his eyes, to see the depth of feeling there that he usually keeps hidden whenever he’s in her company. He has never felt this way about a person in his entire life, and it is terrifying — but thrilling. Thrilling to think that if he does this right, he could be with Pepper Potts, he could be the sole recipient of her tender kisses and casual touches. Terrifying to think that if he does this wrong, he could find himself without a personal assistant, without a friend, and heartsick.

His eyes alight on a small white table placed against the wall of her entryway, a green ceramic dish holding Pepper’s car keys, a black umbrella placed beside it, her purse tucked against the wall. Her house smells like mint, and something floral that he can’t quite place.

“You got me a gift,” Pepper says softly, her arms crossed over her chest, her cheeks flushed pink. “You didn’t have to — I already bought…”

“Of course I had to, it’s your birthday. And I’m sorry I was such an asshole the past five years and didn’t actually buy you one myself. You shouldn’t have to put up with that.”

Pepper shrugs slightly, taking a few steps backwards towards an open door, Tony following after her as she leads him slowly to her living room.

There’s a grey couch, a circular white rug underneath, and white bookshelves set into the wall. There’s no television.

“Can I get you something to drink?” Pepper looks him up and down, teeth worrying her bottom lip for a second. “Aren’t you supposed to be in Las Vegas tonight?”

“Yes, but, y’know. It’s not your birthday every day of the year. And I have to be out of town — seriously out of town — tomorrow, so I thought… It’s just an award, right? Who cares?”

Pepper blinks, one of her hands smoothing her shirt down. “I…”

“I’ll have a coffee, if there’s any. If not, water is fine. Don’t go to any trouble, Pepper, I just wanted to drop this off. I don’t want to take up your evening.”

Pepper waves her hand as she turns and starts to walk to the kitchen. “No, it’s fine, I was just…” She shakes her head, Tony can sense her growing mortification. “Getting ready for bed, anyways. Early, I know, I know…” She disappears into the kitchen, her voice distant. “But today was rough, and I’m exhausted.”

 _I should go. I should go._ Tony runs a hand over his face, fingers curling around his jaw for a moment, tempted to shake some sense into himself. He settles down on her couch, sitting at the very edge of the cushion, ready to spring up and leave the moment she’s opened the present.

“Trouble with Accounting?”

“I knew you were staring at my screen!” Pepper sounds triumphant as she returns to him with two white mugs filled with steaming coffee. She hands his carefully to him, and Tony takes a sip to buy himself some time as Pepper sits beside him on the couch, far more comfortable than he is. The coffee is rich, his toes curl in the shoes he had spent twenty minutes shining, and his eyes drift shut at the first rush of caffeine. He really shouldn’t be drinking coffee this late, especially after this morning, but if he had gone to Las Vegas, he’d be blackout drunk by now. _You win some, you lose some._

“I was doing nothing of the sort,” he counters as he sets his mug down on a coaster patterned with grey and white chevrons, not wanting to leave a mark on Pepper’s glass coffee table. “I was just taking in my surroundings.”

Pepper snorts.

“What?” Tony asks, voice raising in mock defensiveness, “it’s not my fault you had the font blown up to like 300. You really should get your vision checked, Potts, you know I give you decent vision insurance.”

“I had Lasik,” Pepper replies dryly, but she’s smiling. “Anyways, yes, there was a big screw-up on the latest estimation from R&D, and the budget request had already been submitted last week, and you know Cheryl is a stickler.”

“I know,” Tony says solemnly, “Cheryl made me submit a timesheet the first year I was CEO. A **time-sheet**.”

Pepper laughs, her hand moving over her mouth to muffle the sound, which is a damn shame, because her laugh is beautiful, her smile is beautiful — Tony wants to lean across the couch and kiss the back of her hand, wants to brush it aside so that he can kiss her properly.

Reaching down, he collects the bag from the floor, offering it to her. “Go on, open it. I promise I won’t tell anyone that you opened a gift before your birthday.”

Pepper clasps the bag uncertainly in her hands, looking down at it and then back up at him. “This is too expensive, really, Tony…” A slip, it’s always Mr. Stark — except when it’s not, except when he holds a door open for her, or sidles up next to her and covers her with his umbrella during a thunderstorm while he gets soaked to the bone. Then it’s _Tony_ , her eyes sparkling. He’s imagining things, seeing things that he wants to see. He’s her boss, she probably doesn’t even think of him outside of work.

Except that’s not **true** , because Pepper sometimes texts him on weekends and asks him how he’s doing, sometimes she sends him recipes and urges him to try them out, knowing damn well he won’t be caught dead in a kitchen unless he is literally starving to death — not because he can’t cook, but because he’s afraid to, afraid to unearth memories of his mother that will reduce him to tears. But Pepper wants him to try, has offered to cook with him — because the one time he had cooked for her, years ago, the pasta he had prepared for her had been the best pasta she had ever had, forever ruining any not prepared for her by Tony Stark. Pepper is always encouraging him to utilize his talents, to improve himself — when she doesn’t **have** to. _But maybe that’s just called being a good friend._

“Oh, go on, Potts, open it. If you absolutely hate it, I can always wear it.”

Pepper laughs again, this time her hand doesn’t cover her mouth, and Tony is thankful for that. He can watch as she tips her head back slightly, as her eyes close, as her lips curve upwards. Shaking her head, as if he’s asking the world of her, Pepper opens the bag and carefully removes white and blue tissue paper. She withdraws the blue box wrapped with a white ribbon, undoing it with trembling fingers, the lid set aside on the arm of the couch.

Pepper is silent, staring down at the necklace, Tony swears he can see her pulse start to beat faster in her neck. A circular sapphire surrounded by ten small diamonds hangs on a platinum chain. Holding her breath, Pepper lifts the necklace out of the box, the light catching on the gem — she breathes in deeply, and Tony knows she’s thinking of the dress that had been up on her screen.

“Tony,” she says, her voice strained. “Oh my God. You shouldn’t have.”

“I couldn’t exactly get you the dress without something to go with it, right?”

“So you _were_ looking at my screen,” Pepper whispers, the flush pinking her cheeks now spreading down the pale skin of her neck. “Tony, how much **was** this?”

“Don’t worry about that, Pep.” He shifts on the couch, rubbing one hand against his thigh, trying to wick away some of the cold sweat that has turned his hands clammy. “Try it on?”

Pepper fumbles with the clasp, Tony shifts over to sit closer to her, his forearm brushing against hers. “Let me get that,” he murmurs, taking the necklace from her hands. While the calluses roughening his palms might suggest a different story, Tony is used to handling delicate things, and he carefully draws the necklace around her neck, undoing the small clasp and hooking it into place.

The sapphire rests at the base of her throat, right above the neckline of her Winnie the Pooh pajama top. It suits her perfectly.

Tony’s fingers brush down the nape of her neck without thinking, feeling soft strands of her hair, the rest of it piled into a messy bun, ready for sleep. Her skin is warm against his fingertips, which drag down her neck, across the base of it, running over the ridge of her collarbone before trailing back up the column of her throat, feeling her pulse jumping. Then, his palm is cupping her face, thumb brushing over her cheekbone.

Pepper’s eyes are fixed on his, her lips slightly parted, he can feel the warmth of her breath as he leans in to her slowly.

“Do you hate it?” Tony asks her lowly, raising one eyebrow, so close to her now that he can make out freckles he’s never noticed before on the bridge of her nose. “And if so… do you think that I can pull it off?”

Pepper’s eyes widen, mirth brightening her green eyes, and then Tony kisses her.

He can feel her hands as they press against his back, pulling him closer to her, her fingers curling into the fabric of his jacket. His other arm wraps around her waist, hand sliding up under the hem of her pajama top to rest against the small of her back, going no further. The hand cupping her face inches forward, fingers threading through her hair, and then finding the elastic hair tie, she sighs as her hair falls to her shoulders.

“Tony,” she murmurs against his lips, melting into him as his tongue gently brushes over her bottom lip, her fingers seizing the collar of his jacket, and then sinking into the dark brown curls at the nape of his neck.

“Pepper,” he replies, tasting the bite of alcohol from her mouthwash as her lips part against his, she hasn’t touched her coffee.

With a muffled sigh, Pepper swings one leg across his lap, straddling him and arching against him as he deepens the kiss. Tony keeps his hand at the small of her back, pulling away only to press breathless open-mouthed kisses down her neck, Pepper’s small hands brushing aside the lapels of his jacket, slender fingers undoing his bowtie, his shirt loosening against his chest as she frees the small pearl buttons from their holes. And then her soft hands are running over his bare chest, her head tilted back to provide him better access to the pale skin of her throat, the platinum chain of her necklace a startling chill against his lips compared to the heat of her skin. He groans as her hips rock against his, her fingernails scraping down his chest.

“Tony,” she moans his name, and Tony wants to press her against the couch and take her then and there.

But he doesn’t, though both of his hands slip up under her shirt now, feeling the muscles of her abdomen tremble at his touch. The blue shirt flutters to the ground — _Oh, bother —_ and her breasts fit perfectly in his hands, her body shuddering against his as he runs the pad of his thumb over one hardened nipple.

“Pepper,” Tony lifts his head to look into her eyes. “Can I take you to bed?”

Pepper’s fingers curl against his jaw, holding his head steady, her thumb brushing over the sharp edge of his goatee before trailing along his bottom lip, over the indentation her teeth had left in his flesh moments before. Her green eyes are dark with desire, and she nods, her expression one of absolute certainty.

“Yes,” she says as she wraps her arms around his neck, lips pressing to the pulse point beneath his jaw, Tony’s hips jolting against hers at the bolt of need her whispered words send through him. “Take me to bed, Tony.”


	2. Chapter 2

Tony Stark is dead and Pepper Potts is three months pregnant. Both of these things ought to be impossible — sometimes she murmurs the words aloud and they sound so completely fantastical that Pepper goes to sleep every night convinced that she’s either in a coma or stuck in one hell of a lucid dream. But then she wakes up every morning and reaches out to check her phone for a text from Tony telling her that he’s skipping work today, only to find her phone silent — sometimes dead. Lately she’s been forgetting to put it on the charger, forgetting things she usually has no trouble remembering — totally unlike her.

Were it not for the fact that her period had been late — which it never, ever was — Pepper would not have even known that she was pregnant. Yes, in the first few weeks after her night spent with Tony, she had woken up nauseous — but that had soon passed. Yes, she had thrown up once at work, but she could have easily chalked that up to the chicken salad croissant sandwich she’d had for lunch, which certainly didn’t taste as good the second time as she had retched over the toilet in her private bathroom. The night she had realized that her period was late, Pepper had sat up until dawn, flipping through four years’ worth of journals, searching for any entry noting a delayed period, any sort of abnormality, some sort of precedent for this. Fifteen pregnancy tests had followed that sleepless night, any time Pepper passed a CVS or a Walgreens that week, she had emerged with a pregnancy test swinging at her side encased in a flimsy plastic bag.

Even then, staring at fifteen different pieces of plastic declaring her to be pregnant, Pepper hadn’t been convinced. She had booked an appointment with her primary care physician, and once they had gone through the motions of her routine physical, Pepper had asked point-blank for a blood test. She had watched with narrowed eyes as the needle had pierced the vibrant blue vein in the crook of her elbow, had watched her blood flow steadily through the plastic tube leading to the rapidly filling vial.

She had gotten the results two hours later via phone call, sat in her office, scrolling through endless emails asking her for updates about the fruitless search for Tony Stark.

“Hi, Ms. Potts, this is Jackie, from Dr. Oakes’ office — is this a good time?” The woman on the other end of the phone had sounded very kind, Pepper had closed her eyes and recalled a blonde with a bright smile sat at the front desk, confirming Pepper’s insurance before she went back to the examination room.

Pepper had inhaled deeply through her nose, wondering if it was best to hang up the phone, to just not know for certain. “Hi, Jackie — yes, this is a good time, thanks.”

“Great!” Pepper could hear the smile in Jackie’s voice. “We just got the results of your test back, and I wanted to let you know that you are pregnant. Dr. Oakes has a few referrals for obstetricians, but…” Distant typing in the background. “Let me look through your file here, do you still go to Dr. Montgomery? Your OBGYN?”

Pepper had nodded, yes, she’s very good about her yearly pap smears. She had been going to Dr. Montgomery since she moved to California for college. There was an extended period of silence, and then Jackie cleared her throat.

“Ms. Potts — Virginia? Are you still there?”

“Yes, yes — sorry,” Pepper had leaned forward and opened up her calendar. “Yes, I still go to Dr. Montgomery. I’ll be sure to call her and set up an appointment.” She had let the ruthlessly organized part of her brain take over, because she could feel the catch of her breath in her chest, she was moments away from crying if she didn’t get a hold of herself. “Is there anything else I should be doing in the meantime?”

“Absolutely, prenatal vitamins are essential. Here, I’ve got a whole list — do you have a pen?”

Pepper had dutifully picked up her pen and scrawled Jackie’s shopping list and important symptoms to look out for down on a pad of creamy, expensive paper that Tony had given her a few years ago, embossed with _From the Desk of Pepper Potts, MBA_ in gold at the top. Then, she had hung up the phone, dropped the pen on the floor, and started to cry.

How could she be pregnant from one night spent with Tony Stark? **How?**

Well, they hadn’t _exactly_ had sex just once that night, had they? 

Pepper had covered her face with her hands, hunching over as sobs shook her until she was breathless, and when her sobs had faded into quiet whimpers, she had felt the brush of Tony Stark’s work-roughened hands against her shoulders — her head had jerked up, heart in her throat. But her office had been just as empty of him as it had always been in the days following his disappearance, and then presumed death, in Afghanistan.

* * *

_Pepper wakes on the morning of her 30 th birthday with a man’s arms wrapped loosely around her middle — which is quite the surprise, considering the fact she hasn’t had anyone in her bed in over a year. It’s hard to date when you work for the neediest man in the world, a man that requires collecting from seedy looking bars at 3 am, a man who needs to be reminded to eat, a man whose smile makes your feet stumble, your heart thud painfully in your chest. The very same man who is naked in her bed on the morning of her 30th birthday. _

_Pepper’s fingers gently trail down Tony’s left forearm, brushing over the soft brown hair that thatches over his tan skin, along the back of his hand, noticing the way it comes to an abrupt stop along the edge of the base of his thumb, just before the first knuckle. Against her back, she feels his heart beating slowly — Pepper closes her eyes. She cannot recall a time that Tony Stark has spent the night in bed with someone and been there with them in the morning. Instead, he has increasingly left it to Pepper to usher them out with a cup of coffee and a smile while he hides downstairs in the workshop — or if he spent the night at their place, he would slip out a few minutes after they had fallen asleep, occasionally requesting a ride from a very grumpy Pepper when he is too drunk to drive. It’s just not in his nature to stay._

_Yet here he is, his breath puffing warmly against the nape of her neck, a rumbling snore drawing strands of her hair into his mouth, his legs tangled with hers under the duvet. Pepper brings her hand up to the base of her throat, fingers catching against the platinum chain of her new necklace, the sapphire and its surrounding diamonds cool against the heel of her hand, a stark contrast to the very warm man spooning up against her._

_Pepper carefully lifts her head from the pillow, not wanting to wake him, but needing to know the time. Tony is supposed to be taking off for Afghanistan at 7 am, and she has a feeling it has completely slipped his mind. Why else would he have fallen into bed with her? A completely irresponsible, crazy thing for him to do — but even crazier and more irresponsible of her to have grabbed him by the hand and pull him to her bedroom, for her to have pressed herself back against the door to her room and card her fingers through his hair, her thighs resting on his shoulders, his head buried between her legs. She exhales once she catches sight of the alarm clock on her nightstand — 6:08. He needs to wake up, but she can indulge in his closeness for a few more minutes._

_“Good morning.” His voice is deep, tinged with sleep, and she closes her eyes at the coarse scratch of his goatee against the curve of her shoulder, the warmth of his lips against her skin making her toes curl against the sheets._

_“Happy birthday, Pepper,” he murmurs, and she knows she is in love with him — there is no way for her to come back from this without loving him for the rest of her life. Hasn’t she always loved him? Ever since she had marched into his office and laid eyes on him for the first time she has loved him, as he had leaned back casually in his chair, crossed his arms over his chest, and looked at her with those warm brown eyes that he keeps hidden from everyone else. But never her._

_“I…” What is she supposed to say? 'Good morning, Mr. Stark, would you care for some coffee?' When she can feel his hands as they start to roam over her skin, fingertips trailing over the jut of her hipbones?_

_“Do you want me to go?” Tony lifts his head from the pillow, leaning over her shoulder so that she can see him properly. Pepper carefully shifts against him so that she can brush her fingers through his hair, tangled and wild from sleep. Tony’s eyes drift shut at her touch, as her fingers trail over his forehead, her thumb glancing over one dark eyebrow, along the bony arch shadowing his eye sockets, down the sturdy bridge of his nose, the soft skin just under his eyes._

_“I’ll take that as a no,” he decides, kissing her fingertips as they pass over his lips. “Feel any different? The big 3-0, right? You are in fact thirty, flirty, and thriving, I would say.”_

_Pepper raises one eyebrow, “Did you just reference 13 Going on 30?”_

_“Of course I did,” Tony replies, nuzzling his face against her back, letting her hand fall to the bed. “Who wouldn’t, in a situation like this?”_

_So, this is a situation for him. Pepper finds herself biting at her bottom lip, hard enough that there’s a sting of pain. Well, she has the perfect out for him._

_“You need to get going. You’ve got a flight to catch.”_

_Tony’s face stills against her back, in fact, his entire body stills against her — and now she thinks that she’s made a mistake, insulted him, sent him the wrong message._

_“I can be late,” he says softly, pressing closer to her, one hand brushing down her side to grasp her thigh, she inhales as he shifts her leg forward. “I don’t care about the flight. I care about you.”_

_Pepper releases her bottom lip, her eyes flicking back over to the alarm clock, though the hardness of him against her inner thigh is distracting — and then he eases into her with a sigh of her name, and she forgets about the time. All she can think about is him, the way she feels complete with him, the way his fingers glide down her arm and then slot between her own as he takes her hand and presses her palm to the mattress as he makes love to her._

_Tony gets out of bed at 7:37 am, though Pepper nearly pulls him back down into it with her, her hand running over the small of his back as he stands in front of her and stretches, a wild giggle leaving him when she pinches his ass playfully. Sitting up, Pepper pulls the duvet over herself, pressing a kiss to the middle of his back, feeling the bump of his spine against her lips. He had spent half the night examining every inch of her, and she wants nothing more than to do the same to him. But he has to go._

_She watches as he gathers his clothes from the floor, watches him tug black briefs up over his slim hips, making a note of the way the dark swirls of hair fade just at his mid-thigh._

_“I come back early on Sunday morning,” he says as he sits on the edge of the bed, slowly buttoning up his shirt. His fingers deftly fasten the clasp of his elegant black watch, the timepiece settling into place over the pale outline it has left on the skin of his right wrist. “Do you have plans Sunday night?”_

_Pepper blinks, taken aback. “No, I don’t.”_

_“Good,” Tony replies as he shrugs into his tuxedo jacket, the early morning sun lighting on the red silk inner lining. “I want to take you to dinner. How about I pick you up at 7? I’d love to see you in your new dress.”_

_Pepper flushes, pushing her fingers through her sweat-damp hair, knowing for a fact that she probably looks atrocious — and yet Tony is looking at her earnestly, his hand reaching out for hers. He turns her hand over in his, leaning down to kiss the center of her palm._

_“Pepper,” his lips move over her wrist, along her forearm, pulling away to look into her eyes. He swallows, she watches him square his shoulders, as if he’s preparing himself for a blow. “I care about you very much.”_

_“Dinner at 7 o’clock,” she says in barely more than a whisper, watching his face light up with his smile. He’s still smiling as he leans in and kisses her, her hands resting on either side of his face, murmuring his name as his arms wrap around her._

_“You make leaving impossible,” he murmurs, kissing her again, and then again. “Rhodey is going to kick my ass.”_

_“Go,” she laughs against his lips, pulling away. “Go, I don’t want you to get into trouble with Jim.”_

_Tony nods, resting his forehead against hers, still smiling. “I’ll see you at 7 o’clock. On the dot. Promise.”_

_Then he walks to her bedroom door, leaning down to scoop up his shoes with a sheepish smile. Something in her drives her to open her mouth, some recollection of recent news headlines, of the thankfully few near misses he has had over the years — stray bullets and mysterious packages._

_“Be safe, Tony.”_

_He looks over his shoulder at her as he swings the door open, eyes crinkling as he smiles. “For you, Pepper? Always.”_

* * *

7 o’clock on Sunday evening had come and gone. Pepper had paced in the entryway of her home for nearly an hour before breaking down and sending him a text. One word, succinct: _Nice._ Next would be her resignation letter, as soon as she allowed herself to sit down and type it out.

The call had come at 10:30 pm, just as she had peeled herself out of her new dress and curled up in bed, wiped away her tears, and resigned herself to the brutal truth that she had been just another lay for Tony Stark — something she had sworn never to be the moment she started working for him. Obadiah Stane’s voice had been deep and soothing in her ear.

“Virginia, it’s Obadiah. Sorry to call you so late.” He had called her by her name, her legal name — a rarity, only used in serious instances, like when he had called her after the first few times Tony had made a very public pass at her in the middle of a meeting with the board of directors. “It’s Tony.”

“What?” Pepper had sat up in bed, clutching at the sapphire of her necklace, her palm sweating. “Is he alright?”

The line had crackled, the quality of the call breaking up, but not enough for her to not hear Obadiah mutter ‘fuck’ under his breath.

“No, Virginia — I would have called earlier, but I didn’t want to worry you — and we didn’t want this to get out too soon. We thought we would have found him by now —.”

“Found him?” Pepper had interjected, her voice had risen and gone slightly shrill, her fingernails scraping at the skin of her neck as she had clasped the sapphire tighter in her hand.

“Virginia, Tony was coming back from a demonstration of the Jericho missiles on Friday afternoon when his convoy was attacked. There were explosives. Five soldiers lost their lives, and Tony… We couldn’t find his body. We found his blood, though, and drag marks for a ways in the sand. But then nothing. He’s been taken — we don’t know by who, or by what… And I don’t know if he’s alive. I don’t. But I’m flying back tomorrow, because we’re going to break the news overnight, I want to have a handle on it. Rhodes is staying here, there’s a search effort — but… Look, Virginia, I want to be honest with you. It’s not looking good. There was shrapnel everywhere, where we found his blood — if he was caught in the blast, I don’t…” Obadiah had exhaled heavily, “I doubt he survived.”

But he had survived — at least, for a time — long enough for a video to be leaked to the press. Pepper found herself seeing it whenever she closed her eyes, seeing the way Tony had jerked back in the chair he was tied to as the canvas sack had been pulled off his head. Seeing the way his brown eyes had widened, the whites of his eyes startling like those of a cornered dog, his hands curled into tight fists at his sides, bright red blood sparkling in the overhead lights as it flowed in a thick stream down the side of his head. Seeing his chest, wrapped in what must have been rolls and rolls of gauze, stained a deep rust with his dried blood, and the growing blossom of fresh blood — so much blood, with no one there that cared to stop its flow.

* * *

Three months have gone by without another word, without a sign. Obadiah Stane has since installed himself as more-than-acting CEO of Stark Industries, not so much of a hostile takeover as an inevitability — and with it, Pepper Potts is now his personal assistant. She dreads the day that the doors to Tony Stark’s office are opened, his belongings swept into boxes to be put into storage — or, more likely, taken to the dumpster when her back is turned. But it’s coming, because Obadiah is floating the idea of a funeral to her, telling her that it’s time.

How can it be time when Pepper is pregnant with Tony Stark’s child? How is she supposed to stand by as they bury an empty casket, symbolic of the missing mortal remains of the father of her child? A child that she can’t think but to have, if only to still have some part of Tony Stark alive in the world. Pepper has never really considered having children, too busy with work — but now she sits on the couch in her office with a salad balanced in a container on her lap, her right hand holding a fork, her left hand holding _What to Expect When You’re Expecting._

She winces as she flips the page with her thumb, bringing the book closer to her face so that she can examine a detailed drawing of a first-degree perineal tear with a deep frown.

On top of one of the stacks of paperbacks on her coffee table, her cellphone starts to vibrate. Pepper sets her book aside, presses another mouthful of salad past her lips, crunching down on a particularly solid crouton as she picks her phone up and glances at the screen. An incoming call from James Rhodes.

Pepper inhales at least half of her mouthful of salad, straining for air and coughing desperately, her thumb hitting the ‘accept call’ button, bringing the phone up to her ear.

“Pep — is that you — are you okay?”

“Fine,” she wheezes, wiping at her streaming eyes as her salad topples off of her lap and onto the floor. “Fine, fine. Just — hi — how are you?”

She has spoken to Rhodey once a week for the past three months, listened to him as he vented his frustrations over the search effort, tried to soothe away his rage as the military had begun to threaten to back out — because Obadiah is not the only one thinking that it’s time to accept that Tony Stark is dead, apparently. But Rhodey will never accept that, and neither will Pepper, for that matter — or Happy Hogan, who just this week had begun to make plans to join Rhodey in Afghanistan and pick up the search.

“We found him,” Rhodey says triumphantly, now assured that Pepper is not choking to death on the phone. “We’re on our way home, Pepper. He’s alive.”

Pepper pulls the phone away from her ear, staring at the screen, at Rhodey’s tiny smiling face in his contact photo. With her other hand, she reaches to pinch herself, just above the hem of her pencil skirt. She inhales and exhales five times, closing her eyes tightly on the last breath, knowing that she will wake up in a moment — because Obadiah wants to have Tony’s funeral in two weeks, because Tony had bled so much, because there had been something bulging sinisterly under the gauze wrapped around Tony’s chest.

“Pepper, are you there?” Rhodey’s voice is tinny and distant, but when Pepper’s eyes open, she is still sitting on the couch in her office, her feet surrounded by wilted sprigs of lettuce, and her cellphone is still clutched in her hand.

“Yes,” Pepper clears her throat, getting to her feet on trembling legs. “Yes, I’m here — is he alright?”

“He’s alive,” Rhodey says after a pause. “I wanted to call you the second I found him, two days ago — but he was… and then we were in the hospital in Germany and… You’ll see, anyways. I’m calling you from the plane. I think we’re going to land around 4 your time? The air base, by the way, not the airport — stupid fucking… military operation, apparently, never mind the fact that they wanted to give up.” Rhodey exhales sharply, Pepper can picture him pinching the bridge of his nose. “Tony said he wanted you there, to see you. The first thing out of his mouth when I found him was your name.”

_Pepper, I care about you very much._ She glances down at her wrist, swearing to God that she feels his lips against her skin, watching as goosebumps erupt down her forearm. Tony is alive.

“Did you say you were landing at 4?” The plastic container crunches under the heel of Pepper’s shoe, the edge of the coffee table catching her left knee as she lurches towards the door, her eyes watering — not out of pain — but because Tony is alive. “Jim, is he really — you’ve really…?”

“Yes.” Now Rhodey sounds exhausted, three months of non-stop effort, desperate hope fueling him instead of sleep. “Yes, he’s coming home, Pepper. I’ll see you at 4, okay? Can you tell Happy? I’d call, but… I want to keep an eye on Tony. He’s sleeping now, but…”

Pepper’s hand wraps around the handle of her office door, her cellphone held up against her ear by her shoulder, her other hand now holding her purse. Tony is sleeping, but Rhodey sounds concerned and uncertain. All of that blood...

“I’ll tell Happy,” she replies. “I’ll see you at 4, Jim. Thank you.” She’s thanking him for calling, thanking him for never giving up, thanking him for being the one to find Tony, lost in the desert — hurt — likely a very different man compared to the one that had begrudgingly left her bed early one morning three months ago… _The first thing out of his mouth when I found him was your name._

“See you at 4,” Rhodey murmurs and then hangs up.

Happy drives them to the airbase, which is the safer option, considering the fact that Pepper can’t seem to stop crying. It’s not like she’s sobbing in the passenger seat, but she does keep bringing a damp tissue up to her eyes, dabbing away the tears that keep trickling out despite her best intentions. Happy is sitting so upright behind the wheel that he must be uncomfortable, both hands gripping the leather so tightly that she can see his knuckles whiten beneath his skin. He had not been any more relieved than Pepper had been when she had described Tony’s current state to him, with the best information she had available — Tony is alive, that is all they know. They’ll just have to wait to find out what ‘alive’ really entails.

They park on the tarmac, Pepper’s constant dabbing now turning frantic, wanting to touch up her makeup before the plane lands. She pulls down the sun visor and flips the lid of the mirror up, looking in silent horror at her flushed face and bloodshot eyes — and the mascara smeared just beneath them, making her look like she’s wearing a bandit’s mask.

“Happy,” she winces at the hoarseness of her voice, clearing her throat. “You don’t happen to have another tissue, do you?”

Happy grunts and leans over, opening the glove compartment in front of her, which is stuffed to the brim with napkins from various fast-food chains. He plucks out one emblazoned with the golden arches of McDonald’s, offering it to her.

“Tony always asks for extra napkins and then shoves them in there.” Happy speaks in present-tense, which is relief, because lately Pepper has found herself saying things like ‘Tony was’, ‘Tony would’, ‘Tony used to’ — but there’s no need for those little betrayals anymore. Tony is alive, and unless her eyes are deceiving her, the massive military jet barrelling towards the runway is bringing him home to her.

Once the jet has been taxied over to their parked car, the ambulance arrives, sirens silent but lights flashing. If she knows Tony, he will instantly deny any sort of medical care — but she will cajole him, beg if she has to. Because he has been missing for three months, God knows what damage he has sustained physically — as for his mental state, Pepper can’t even begin to imagine.

The ramp lowers from the jet, Pepper practically throws herself out of the car, adjusting the brown jacket she’s wearing, the edge of her right index finger brushing over her cheek one last time, feeling faint dampness, but no new tears.

Tony descends down the ramp, right arm in a sling, the other threaded through Rhodey’s for support. He blinks in the bright sunlight, turning his head to the side for a moment, eyes closing. He’s lost weight, a lot of weight — Tony has always been lithe, despite the sheer amount of junk food he endlessly consumes, he spends a lot of time in his home gym when he isn’t at the office or in the workshop. Now the suit he’s wearing hangs off of him, she can make out the sharp edges of bone underneath the sunburned skin of his face. As she advances towards him, she can make out large patches of peeling skin at his hairline — despite his deep sunburn, there’s an underlying pallor to him, like he’s just crawled out from a cave.

“Get rid of them,” Tony mutters to Rhodey, gesturing to the advancing EMT crew, stretcher pushed in front of them. Rhodey carefully pulls his arm out from Tony’s, placing a steadying hand on the other man’s shoulder before walking over to the ambulance, hands patting the air placatingly.

Tony stands in front of her, brown eyes still squinting from the sun as he appraises her, a scabbed over scrape along the right side of his neck, flecks of sand seemingly trapped in his wounded skin like tiny motes of prehistoric pollen trapped in amber.

“Your eyes are red,” Tony says, raising one eyebrow, the corner of his mouth lifting into a humorless smirk. “A few tears for your long-lost boss?”

Pepper opens her mouth, her hands clasped together in front of her abdomen, and she almost says it — as he stands in front of her, his legs trembling so badly that she can see the tremor running through the rest of his body, the exhaustion and pain radiating out of him so strongly that she feels like she is bruising just by standing in close proximity to him. It would be so easy to say, and such a relief, to bring someone else into the fold that isn’t her OBGYN — _Tony, I’m pregnant._

“Tears of joy,” Pepper smiles, shaking her head slightly. “I hate job hunting.”

Tony sniffs, and then nods sharply — his hair is longer than she has ever seen it, a mess of unruly brown curls, those at the crown of his head lighter, almost sun bleached. _What has happened to you, Tony?_

“Yeah, vacation’s over.” And then his hand wraps around her elbow, guiding her towards the car where Happy is waiting, the back door to the Rolls Royce open and inviting him to enter. “It’s good to see you, Pep,” he murmurs to her as his hand slips away from her elbow. “Sorry about dinner.”

Happy shuts the door after Tony, leaving Pepper to stand there, stunned. He has been missing for three months, held captive, likely tortured (though _God_ , Pepper does not want to consider that) — and one of the first things he had wanted to do upon seeing her was apologize for missing their date, as if he had any control over what had happened to him.

“You coming, Pep?” Happy asks her uncertainly, both forearms resting on the roof of the car, leaning against it as he looks at her. Rhodey waves to them from where he stands amidst a group of fellow Air Force officers, wordlessly letting her know that he’ll catch up with them, that it’s okay for them to get going.

“Yes,” Pepper murmurs, and then speaks louder. “Yes, sorry — yes.” Instead of getting into the passenger seat, as she normally would, she crosses behind the car and gets into the back seat beside Tony.

Tony has just finished buckling himself in, jaw set as he adjusts the seatbelt away from his injured arm, his left hand curling into a fist on his lap. His knuckles are covered in tiny scrapes and cuts, the back of his hand is bruised a vivid purple.

As they argue about hospitals, cheeseburgers, and press conferences, Pepper is only partially invested in the conversation, the vast majority of her attention is focused on him, trying to satisfy an inner need to document everything that is new about Tony, everything that has changed since she last saw him.

There are two small but deep cuts on his face, one on the arch of his right cheek, the other passing through the end of his left eyebrow. His nose seems slightly swollen, and is definitely crooked — a break that hasn’t healed properly. When he turns his head to the right to look out the window, she inhales quietly, eyes fixed on his ear — the soft skin of the shell of his ear that she had caressed as he had kissed her is covered in tiny lacerations, the lobe of his ear itself still has dried blood on it, she almost reaches over with the McDonald’s napkin she’s still clutching in her hand, wanting to scrub it away. But she doesn’t.

The rest of his body is a mystery to her, but if it’s anything like his face, she knows he must be hurting more than he lets on. There’s something else, too, something that the dark brown fabric of his shirt and the width of his tie doesn’t entirely hide. They pass through a tunnel, and in the brief moment of darkness, there’s a faint blue glow issuing from Tony’s chest.

They pull up to the sprawling building they use for press conferences and other media events at Stark Industries, Tony wiping ketchup away from the corner of his mouth with a napkin, shoving his half-eaten cheeseburger back into the brown paper bag from Burger King. Outside of the car, Obadiah Stane stands, hands on his hips, a huge grin on his face — surrounded by Stark Industries employees and so many members of the press corps that Pepper’s head starts to ache — she hadn’t arranged this, had refused to, but Tony had sat beside her and tapped away on his newly issued cellphone.

“You have got to be kidding me,” Pepper snaps, unable to stop herself. Tony looks over at her as he passes Happy a fresh batch of napkins for the glove compartment, hurt evident in his eyes from her tone. “You don’t need to do a press conference, Tony — you need — you need —.” _You need to know that I love you and that I’m pregnant with your child and that I want to hold you close and protect you from everything. I can’t let you go out there and let them lay into you with intrusive questions, let them cut you open to the core like they always do — I’ve let you nurse your wounds alone for years, but I won’t let that happen again._

“You need to rest!”

Tony gives her a sad smile, his hand resting just above her knee for a moment, his cautious touch nearly driving her to reach out and grab his hand in hers, to comfort him, to convince him that she remembers that night better than she remembers any other time in her life — but he’s already reaching for the door handle.

“I need to do this first, Pepper. It’s important — and then I’ll rest. I promise.”


	3. Chapter 3

The press conference goes better than Tony had anticipated, considering the fact that he had cooked up the idea about an hour before landing and had walked into the building with only one thing he knew that he had to say for certain — no more weapons at Stark Industries. No more weapons built by Stark Industries ever again, for that matter.

He had sat with his back against the podium to keep him upright, forcing down another cheeseburger even though the first one was burning its way back up his esophagus — eating was the only thing he could think to do to keep from spewing up a remarkable amount of vomit on his designer shoes. That would yield the type of headlines he was hoping to avoid — _Tony Stark, Unhinged?_ and beneath that in smaller type — _Contents of Stark’s stomach measuring a whopping 3 quarts — Tony Stark, nonhuman?!_

Showing Obadiah the miniaturized arc reactor in his chest afterwards, well… There had been no avoiding it — the other man had held him firmly in place, as if knowing Tony wanted to run, digging his thick fingers with bruising force into Tony’s shoulders. Tony’s right shoulder had been an all-consuming flare of pain in Obadiah’s grasp — it had only just been wrenched back into its socket 24 hours ago, and the flesh surrounding the joint was nothing more than a painful amalgamation of vivid, overlapping contusions.

After the press conference, all Tony had wanted was to take Pepper by the hand and bring her home with him — the thought of facing his cliffside mansion alone had made him break out into a cold sweat on the plane. But after his disconcerting conversation with Obadiah, he had still felt the other man’s phantom fingers ghosting with envy and lust over the skin of his chest, dragging along the glass front of the arc reactor, as Tony searched for Pepper in the throng of reporters still clustered in the press room. 

Dodging requests for comments and the gory details surrounding his three months in captivity, Tony had made his way outside to where Happy was waiting, and had gone home alone.

The mansion was exactly how he feared it would be — Happy, to his credit, had lingered by the front door and asked Tony if he wanted some company.

“No, I’m fine, Hap.” Tony had turned to face the other man, his stalwart friend, always worried about Tony — Happy’s primary concerns were Tony’s safety and Tony’s happiness. “You’re a good friend, Happy.”

Happy had blinked, instantly weary, like Tony was gearing up to kill himself once he was alone and wanted their last interaction to be a memorable one. “Yeah, boss?”

“Yeah, you are.” Swallowing back a grimace, Tony had wrapped his free arm around Happy’s neck and pulled the other man in for a tight hug, his injured shoulder rumbling as it pressed against Happy’s broad chest. Happy’s hands had fluttered against Tony’s back for a moment, uncertain, Tony had never hugged him properly before. Tony had breathed in, smelling Happy’s cologne (something with vanilla, somehow, Happy always smelled vaguely of baked goods despite having sworn off anything with icing two New Years resolutions’ ago) and motor oil — Happy must have been working on something in his garage during his time without Tony, the familiar smell of a troublesome engine of a fixer-upper had sunken into his very skin.

Pulling away, Tony had patted Happy’s cheek clumsily. “I’ll see you tomorrow, Hap.”

“Do you want me to call Pepper, Tony?” Happy had reached out to unlock the front door for him, Tony had struggled to isolate his house key with the fumbling fingers of his left hand.

_Yes._

“No,” Tony had said with a smile, heaving the heavy front door open, “I’ll be fine.”

* * *

Now he wishes more than anything that he had been honest with Happy, that he had turned to face the other man with tears swimming in his eyes and said ‘yes, Happy, please call Pepper and tell her to come right over’. Instead, he sits here in the dark, his duvet wrapped around his shoulders, and takes another huge gulp from the bottle of scotch clenched in his left hand.

He’s cold, he’s shivering so hard that his teeth are chattering. He knows it’s because his heart isn’t pumping blood efficiently anymore, knows that his circulation is more of a concept than a reality at this point — he’d been told all of this at the hospital in Germany, had taken in the looks of disappointment on the faces of the doctors when he had told them that he wanted every single record of his stay destroyed, with no copies left behind.

He wants to put on another layer, but he can’t get his injured arm through a sleeve without blacking out — he had tried to pull on a thick woollen sweater close to 2 in the morning, and had woken at 2:15 in a puddle of liquor, his arm cradled to his chest, the sweater halfway over his head.

“I just have to get through tonight,” Tony whispers to himself, breathing shallowly. Ever since he had awoken with a car battery hooked up to his chest, he has found himself on the verge of fainting, each inhalation barely giving him enough oxygen to put one foot in front of the other. Installing the reactor had taken up valuable space in his mediastinum — more than three quarters of his sternum left behind to become dust on the floor of the cave, but the alternative had been death. Now he has to live with the consequences of his decisions — the list seems to be growing longer by the minute.

He almost makes it through the night, weak rays of dawn unable to pierce the blacked out windows of his mansion, the entire house is pitch black but for the arc reactor glowing in his chest. At 5:45 am, Tony instructs J.A.R.V.I.S. in a wavering voice to call Pepper.

She answers on the second ring. “Tony.” She sounds alert, like she has been awake for a while — or perhaps had never gone to sleep at all. “Tony, are you okay?”

He breathes in, his hand still pressed against his mouth, the scream he had been muffling had died in his throat the minute the phone had begun to ring. He exhales against his palm, the scent of scotch so strong that his eyes water — he’s so drunk that he should be curled up on the floor in a pool of vomit, but he doesn’t feel a goddamn thing except fear. He had heard Pepper’s voice in the cave before, had had entire conversations with her while Yinsen had slept on the cot mere feet from him. He could easily be back there now, if it were not for the scent of scotch — there had hardly been any water to drink in the cave, let alone liquor. He is home, but he is alone.

“I’m sorry to call you,” his voice cracks, he lifts his legs to rest them on the coffee table, foot catching the empty glass bottle and sending it to the floor with a dull thud. “Would you mind coming over?”

“I’ll be there in fifteen minutes, Tony,” he can hear her shift, the jingle of her keys as she grabs them from that green ceramic bowl he had seen when he closed his eyes and tried to sleep in the cave.

For three months, he had drifted off thinking about some random belonging of Pepper Potts’ he had seen that night. Some were inexplicable, like the strange little decorative gnome in her bathroom, one hand outstretched to hold a single roll of toilet paper. Tony had laughed himself to tears as he sat on the toilet, Pepper had hurried into the bathroom to see what was the matter, only to blush and grin and try to pass it off as a gift from her mother — as if she had not picked it out herself after one too many glasses of wine on a Tuesday night. Tony had lifted Pepper up into his arms, her legs wrapped around his waist as he had staggered into her spacious shower, pausing only to turn the gnome around to face the wall, Pepper laughing breathlessly as her tongue had trailed over the skin just under his ear.

Then there were other objects that made more sense for him to think about — like the painting Pepper had hung up opposite her bed, where any normal person would have put a TV. One of Claude Monet’s water lily paintings, an original, soothing blues and greens, dabs of red and swaths of white. He had gifted it to Pepper for Christmas four years back, very familiar with her love of art after having had to endure several long debates, complete with stacks of notes in Pepper’s own hand, over which pieces he should incorporate into the Stark family’s expansive art collection. Recalling that painting in his mind’s eye for the first week, he had gotten a few hours of peaceful sleep, feeling the lily pads brush against his shoulders, the water of the pond soothing his aching body, the pain in his chest finally fading.

And then his captors had grabbed him by the back of his head, pulling his hair until he cried out through gritted teeth, and had dragged him by his hair to a metal tub filled with steaming water near the entrance of the cave. Without giving him even a chance to take a deep breath, they had submerged his head under water and held him there until his thrashing turned to weak spasms, barely clutching to consciousness, water burning in his lungs, the car battery slipping out of his limp hands. _I can smell water lilies._ The dreams of the painting had gone away after that.

“Ms. Potts is here, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says softly, but Tony still jumps, scanning the darkness for the source of the voice before his rational mind has an opportunity to catch up.

“Tony?” Pepper’s voice echoes through the house from the foyer, Tony’s eyes close when he hears the clink of her keys as she sets them down on his own entryway table, his far more cluttered with haphazard stacks of mail accumulated during his captivity. “Where are you?”

“Living room,” he replies, his voice a wheeze. Grinding his teeth together, he swirls saliva in his dry mouth before trying again. “Living room.”

“Just keep talking, Tony, I’m trying not to bump into anything.” She doesn’t ask J.A.R.V.I.S. to turn off the window tinting, and she doesn’t turn lights on as she makes her way through the house, footsteps shuffling cautiously down the hall. “Where’s that sculpture?”

Long twists of bronze entwined in a lover’s embrace, Tony keeps it to the left of the doorway into the living room.

There’s a hollow clanging followed by a much deeper thud.

“Oh, damn, Tony, I just kicked it over.”

He squints in the darkness, shifting the duvet off of his chest. Pepper Potts is instantly awash in a soft blue glow, balancing on one leg and holding her slippered left foot in her hands, the bronze sculpture sprawled forlornly on the floor.

“How’s your toe?” Tony gets to his feet unsteadily, “you didn’t break any, did you? Toes take forever to heal. I broke my pinky toe once, back at MIT.” His words are slurred, he really must be drunk — but if he is, why doesn’t he feel any better?

“Tony…” Pepper’s foot lowers to the floor, her arms dangling loosely at her sides. “What _is_ that?”

“What’s what?” Tony looks over his shoulder into the darkness. “The couch? Have you really not been here while I was gone? Big white couch.”

“No, not the couch.” Pepper doesn’t sound exasperated, though she usually is when he’s this drunk — typically because he’s thrown up on her Louboutins. “Tony, what is _this_?”

She stands directly in front of him, her left hand moving to his shoulder to stop him from barrelling into her, her other hand hovers in front of his chest. He had cast off his suit jacket the minute he had closed the front door behind him, and had struggled to get the buttons of his shirt undone, intent on changing into some very warm pajamas. But then he couldn’t get his right arm to do anything except ache, and doing buttons back up was much harder than undoing them — so, encasing himself in the duvet had been the best way to get warm. The light of the reactor casts her face in shadows, the skin around her eyes dark, like she’d blackened her eyes. Hesitantly, she extends her index finger and presses it to the front of the reactor.

“Oh, Tony.”

“Pepper.” Tony’s ears are ringing, Pepper is swaying in front of him — he doesn’t think she’s swooning at the ruin of his chest, rather, his hold on reality is slipping very precariously.

“Christ, Tony, you’re shaking.” Her hand moves to the left of his reactor, palm pressing over his heart, lightly, mindful of the bruises and sinister slender lines of scarring skin radiating out from the reactor. “You’re freezing. Can we get you into something warmer?”

“'s my circulation. Shit. Tried to put a sweater on, shoulder, though…”

Pepper feels across his chest for the stiff fabric sling that ought to be holding his right arm close to him. “Where’s the sling, Tony?”

“Don’t know. Probably by the sweater.”

Pepper exhales slowly, Tony can tell that she’s making a mental list, prioritizing what needs to be done — finding the sweater and his sling is probably pretty close to the bottom of the list.

“Pepper.”

“Yes, Tony?”

“I think I need to lie down.”

“Okay, that sounds like a good idea. Let’s get you to bed, okay?” She carefully wraps an arm around him, turning him in the darkness to face the direction of his bedroom. Tony staggers forward a few steps, trying to keep himself upright, but Pepper hushes him and pulls him closer to her side. “Lean on me, Tony, I don’t mind.”

 _You’re not that heavy anymore_ , she doesn’t say it, but she thinks it as she feels the bumps of ribs against her hand. She recalls Tony chewing the cheeseburger as he sat at the press conference, recalls the way he had struggled to swallow, as if he would rather grab the Burger King bag and vomit into it. Pepper turns her head towards him as they pass through the doorway of his bedroom, breathing in deeply. There’s the overpowering scent of alcohol, yes, but under it, acidic threads of vomit, beneath that, the tang of blood.

They both stumble when they run into the edge of his bed, Tony nearly falls face first onto the mattress, but Pepper’s hand is a white blur in the darkness that grabs at the back of his shirt, fabric tearing somewhere — she thinks one of the arms of his shirt has ripped, but in the dim light from the reactor, it’s really impossible to tell.

“Made it,” Tony sounds relieved, turning around slowly so that he can sit on the edge of the bed, hands dangling between his knees, eyes fixed on her. “Pepper, I want…”

She shakes her head quickly, no — she has things to say to him as well, about that night, about what has happened since, but in this moment, they are unimportant.

“We can talk about that later, Tony. Okay?”

Tony pauses, considering her words, the fingers of his left hand circling over the metal lip of the reactor, she wonders if that’s a comforting sensation for him — she wonders if he can feel much sensation on his chest at all.

“Okay, but — you’re not mad at me?”

“Mad?” Pepper raises one eyebrow, slowly starting to ease his shirt back towards his shoulders. “Why should I be mad, Tony? You’re home — you’re alive. I’m the opposite of mad.”

“Well,” Tony’s eyes dart down when her hand moves towards his right shoulder, body tensing up in anticipation of the pain. “I promised you that I would take you out for dinner. 7 o’clock. I didn’t show. You probably called me every name in the book.”

Pepper’s fingers gently start to ease the sleeve of his shirt down over his right shoulder, breathing in as Tony moans in pain, his head resting against her stomach. She tries not to think about the text message she had sent him, the word ‘nice’ will haunt her for the rest of her days — but he at least had never seen it, his phone likely buried under a mile of sand by now. His right shoulder is so swollen that the fabric of his dress shirt strains against it as she struggles to free him of it, in the glow of the reactor, the bruises over the joint are so dark that his skin looks necrotic.

“There,” she says once his arm is free, her fingers carding through his hair, cradling his head against her. There’s something damp seeping through the fabric of her t-shirt, casualwear that Tony has never seen her in (except for her Winnie the Pooh pajamas, to have been seen in those by _Tony_ had been so embarrassing that she would have died had the night gone any differently). Pepper looks up at the ceiling, searching the darkness for a tell-tale circular brown stain amidst the white — a leak from the roof, and then she realizes. Tony is crying.

“Tony,” she murmurs, “Tony, you’re okay. I’m sorry, honey, I’m sorry — I had to get the shirt off of you.”

He takes a ragged breath, the fingers of his left hand digging against the small of her back, clutching at her, and as his shoulders begin to shake, Pepper understands that he’s not crying just because of his shoulder. Tangled up in him, she struggles to get his shirt completely off of him, succeeding between Tony’s sobs. Then she sits down beside him on the bed, gathers him up in her arms, and lets him press his face against her neck and cry.

Her hand brushes down his back, feeling the rise and fall of his spine, the bones so much sharper against her fingertips than they had been three months ago, so much more prominent. She brings her hand back up to the nape of his neck, brushing her palm flat down his back — and then again, until Tony’s sobs fade, until he is trembling in her arms and gasping for breath.

“Just breathe,” Pepper murmurs, rocking him in her arms, gently trying to tilt her head so that his face isn’t flush against her neck, so that he can get more air. He should be burning up in her arms, but he’s ice cold. She reaches behind her for the duvet, but it’s not on the bed.

“Sorry,” Tony’s voice cracks, and then gives, barely more than a whisper now. “Sorry — fuck, Pepper — I’m sorry — I don’t want you to think… That I… That I just lose it like this. I don’t.”

Slowly, she eases Tony down onto the bed, helping him shift a little further up so that his feet aren’t dangling off the edge of it. She leans down over him, her hair brushing over his face for a moment before she impatiently sweeps it back with her hand.

“I can’t pretend that I know what happened over there, Tony.” The glowing arc reactor in his chest tells her enough, though, as does the seemingly endless amount of injuries his body has accumulated, his skin marred by bruises that seem to break him up into smaller parts. “But you’re allowed to cry.” She brushes away a stray tear glistening on his cheek, his brown eyes bloodshot and so, so tired. “I won’t ever think less of you for it.”

“They tortured me,” he blurts out, grabbing at her wrist when she starts to pull away, not knowing that she only plans on taking a few steps to the linen closet in the hallway to find a new duvet for his bed.

“Tony, you don’t need to tell me,” Pepper’s face is pale, her freckles standing out across her cheeks, her teeth sinking into her bottom lip. “Not if you don’t — you know… I don’t know how to…”

“I need to tell someone, Pepper,” he replies, grip loosening on her wrist. “I have to tell someone. I’d like for it to be you.”

So he tells her, and she sits and listens. Midway through, he grabs one of his pillows and presses it to his chest so that he can’t see her face in the light of the reactor, because watching her cry is tearing him apart. Once he’s told her, a weight lifts from his chest — not the one he really wants gone, not the one that makes each breath a struggle — but one that has held him down, helpless against memories that make him flinch at sudden movements, cringe away from water — even if it’s in a glass.

“Don’t go,” he croaks, his voice is well and truly shot, it’ll be days before he can speak above a straining whisper. “Please.”

Pepper kicks off her slippers before shifting onto the bed beside him. She quickly pulls the thin top sheet up over them and wraps herself around him, allowing him to settle on top of her, her hands resting against the base of his spine, fingertips dipping just barely below the waistband of his trousers. After a few moments, Tony stops shivering.

She can sense the moment he falls asleep — she’s not sure if it’s the way his breathing deepens, or if it’s the sudden heaviness in his limbs as he sinks against her. A faint snore confirms it, and Pepper sighs.

Tony has unburdened himself today, Pepper longs to do the same — not that their child is a burden, no, she would never think that. But keeping her pregnancy a secret from him will gnaw away at her, she longs to know how he will react to the news — he would be an amazing father, she knows that — and she doesn’t just think that because she had nearly lost him. The last of her reservations about him had faded yesterday as he had looked out on a crowd of reporters with a set jaw, and had told them with absolute certainty that the weapons division of Stark Industries was no more.

He’s asleep, so she can tell him.

“Tony, I’m pregnant,” Pepper closes her eyes as she whispers the words against the top of his head.

Tony doesn’t respond, doesn’t tense in her arms, doesn’t run screaming for the nearest cliff edge. He simply snores in her arms, she can feel it rumble through her bones. As she starts to drift to sleep, Pepper can only hope that instead of dreams of metal tubs filled with water, of baseball bats that knock the wind from him, of rusty scalpels cutting ceaselessly into his chest, and of blood spattered glasses on the face of the man who had died to save his life — Tony instead will dream of a warm bundle held in his arms, burbling laughter, never-ending games of hide-and-seek and tag, all the while knowing that he’s safe from harm while he sleeps in Pepper’s embrace.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know i've sworn off the mcu etc etc but seeing tony snapping his fingers in the new intro reel for marvel right before i dive into the mindfuck that is wandavision has been bumming me out... :( anyways hope you enjoyed this chapter!


	4. Chapter 4

Without Tony even having to ask, Pepper moves in at 10880 Malibu Point. She spends the night in his bed a handful of times, taking up reliable residence in the guest room next door. It makes a significant difference, having someone in the house at almost all times — though sometimes she slips away to the office. When Pepper goes, however, she always makes a point to tell him over the intercom that she’s leaving, and she always gives him an exact time of when she would be home — Tony has timed it to the second, she has only been late once.

There’s one major downside to her stay, however, and that’s the fact that she lingers in doorways sometimes. She stands and looks at him, her lips part as if she’s on the verge of saying something to him. He never probes, though, he lets her shake her head with a sigh and march back to his neglected home office — which she has claimed as her own. Tony, on the other hand, is wholeheartedly taking Obadiah’s suggestion to lie low — perhaps he’s embracing the idea a little too enthusiastically, if the growing number of voicemails left on his cellphone by Obadiah is any indication.

He has work to do that doesn’t involve Stark Industries, anyways, with his first priority being the reactor. Lately, it has developed a maddening habit of shorting out on him, a harmless problem were it not for the fact that it would only take about two minutes before shrapnel could start edging its way towards his heart without the electromagnet repelling it. According to J.A.R.V.I.S., an exposed wire is causing the problem — not exactly cause for a completely new reactor. However, in the cold light of day, the miracle he had created in the cave is crude and inefficient — he knows he can do better, with the right materials available to him — and in his workshop, the materials are endless. It seems like an obvious idea to integrate the electromagnet into the reactor itself, avoiding the need for any external wiring at all — but in the cave, he and Yinsen had been working with scraps.

He doesn’t spend all of his time laboring over the new reactor, though, he works in fits and starts — spending a nonstop 16 hours modifying the palladium core before shuffling upstairs to where Pepper waits for him in the kitchen.

That’s something new, too, cooking with Pepper. He had gone along with it the first few days because it had served as a distraction from the almost overwhelming need to drink himself into a stupor whenever he caught sight of his reflection. But then one evening she had returned after work holding a mason jar aloft, filled with a beige slop that hadn’t looked appetizing.

“It’s my sourdough starter!” Pepper had grinned at him, setting the jar down on the kitchen counter, turning on the sink and pumping soap into her hands. “Let’s bake some bread.”

The kitchen had soon transformed into a storage unit for loaves of sourdough bread in the weeks that had followed — Tony would open up the pantry in search of a snack only to find a half-eaten loaf tucked away on the topmost shelf, as if he or Pepper had absentmindedly traded it for a jar of their homemade pasta sauce. Their breakfasts now always include two toasted slices of sourdough, but the sheer amount of bread in the house never seems to decrease.

Tony bites into a slice of toast, pulling it away from his mouth to consider its structure as he chews — not their best bake, but passable for now, considering how nauseous he feels today. There’s a reason for the nausea, of course. In a few moments, he will summon Pepper down to the workshop, and she will hold his life in her hands. Tony sets the half-eaten toast aside, wiping his hands on the thighs of the worn sweatpants he’s wearing. With his hands no longer greasy, he picks up the new reactor. As for the old reactor, it can be disintegrated — a souvenir from Afghanistan that he has no interest in keeping.

“What’s Pep doing right now, J?” Tony moves over to the reclining chair he had bought especially for this purpose from a medical supply store earlier this week, orchestrating its delivery to occur while Pepper had been at Stark Industries for the morning. The multicolored electrodes and their corresponding wires are laid neatly on a metal tray. Tony places the reactor on the tray and scoops up one electrode, peeling off the paper covering the adhesive back.

“She’s just finished a conference call, sir, regarding Stark Industries’ current position on the stock market.”

“Which is?” Tony asks, though he doesn’t particularly care.

“Atrocious, sir.”

Tony smiles, pressing the black electrode under his left clavicle. “Mm. You’ll be watching this, right?”

“Your electrocardiogram? Absolutely, sir — shall I contact emergency services immediately in the case of a cardiac event, sir?”

Tony hums as he presses the brown electrode to the right of the reactor, knowing that he’s no longer adhering to the diagram he’d found in a nursing textbook online — but there’s not much he can do when he doesn’t have much of a sternum to refer to as a landmark. Pepper is not exactly a cardiologist, either, and there are numerous ways for this to go wrong. Perhaps he ought to err on the side of caution, not his usual technique, but in these circumstances...

“No — Okay, actually, only if you are absolutely certain that I’m dying. Seriously, run the scans and everything. Pepper better be screaming and clawing her eyes out before you call 911. It’ll be fine, J.A.R.V.I.S. Get Pep on the intercom, will you?”

“Certainly, sir,” a low crackle follows J.A.R.V.I.S.’ words.

“Pepper. How big are your hands?”

As if he hadn’t asked J.A.R.V.I.S. this morning to measure them. While he hadn’t asked for her permission, he hadn’t thought that Pepper would have minded an unobtrusive scan — it had been over in a fraction of a second, and it’s not like she has any major health secrets to keep from him — not that Tony would ask J.A.R.V.I.S. about that, anyways. He had only cared about the size of her hands — which would easily fit down the socket Yinsen had constructed in his chest — but best to ask her anyways, to avoid arousing suspicion.

“What?”

Tony cuts through Pepper’s confusion with a simple command. “Get down here, Pep. I need you.”

Pepper enters the workshop just as Tony is settling back on the chair, squishing the last electrode to his skin.

“C’mon, hold ‘em up,” Tony says, crossing his arms over his chest as he appraises her. Pepper frowns at him, raising her hands into the air as she walks over towards the chair.

“Yes, that’s what I thought. Very petite, tiny hands.” With a grunt, Tony twists the reactor and pulls it out of his chest — Pepper stifles a shriek.

“Tony — what are you doing?!”

“It’s all good, Pep, just doing a little upgrade. Ran into a snag, though, need your help. My big meaty paws are not cooperating. You, on the other hand, have very slender fingers, I knew my memory could be trusted.”

Pepper flushes, not sure if Tony is referencing the night they had spent together — which they haven’t discussed at all, aside from Tony’s initial apology for missing their date.

“You take this,” Tony says, handing the old unit over to her, glancing over at the monitor he has hanging to the right of him — 1 minute and 45 seconds, oodles of time. DUM-E whirs over his head, opening and closing its claws, no doubt affronted that Tony had selected Pepper for this task instead.

“What’s the — snag —?” Pepper looks down at the reactor now thrust into her hands, her eyes widening. “This is warm!”

“Yep, that’s the palladium, probably a little bit of whatever body heat I’ve got left, too.” 1 minute and 30 seconds. _Okay, we need to pick up the pace here._ “Not a huge problem, I’d pop the new one in myself, but there’s an exposed wire causing a short, pretty uncomfortable too, so I need you to reach in and pull the wire out.”

Pepper is still holding the old reactor, though now she’s holding it close to her chest, as if it’s something precious. “You want me to… reach into your… chest?”

“Uh huh, put that down, Pep, on the table — away from the new one —.” _Oh fuck me, we are totally going to run out of time._

Pepper does as she’s told, though she keeps glancing over at the open socket in his chest, her eyes drawn to the darkness, this gaping hole into the very core of him that should have killed him. “Shouldn’t I — wear gloves?”

“Sir, you have one minute.”

“Thank you, J.A.R.V.I.S.!” Cold sweat starts to trickle down his temple, Pepper nearly drops the new reactor.

“There’s a timer?!” She turns to him, her voice thin and high-pitched. “Tony!”

Tony reaches out to her with one hand. His fingers grasp at the fabric of the black dress she’s wearing, grabbing hold of her just below her breasts — _very stylish —_ pulling her to his side.

“Pepper, reach into my chest. It’s fine, I promise. Just don’t let the wire touch the socket wall when you pull it out, alright? It’s like Operation, you know?”

“Operation?”

Tony closes his eyes, wondering whether he has time to once again marvel over Pepper’s seemingly fun-free childhood. “Never mind, never mind. We can play later. C’mon, Pep. Reach in. The copper wire.”

Her free hand hovers over the opening, fingers dipping past the rim for a brief second before she pulls her hand away with a sharp hiss.

“You know, Tony, I don’t think I’m qualified to do this.”

Tony opens his eyes. Pepper looks very pale, her hand is shaking over the opening in his chest. They don’t have time for this, but if he doesn’t reassure her, it won’t get done. He takes her hand in his, squeezing gently.

“Pepper, you’re the most capable, qualified, trustworthy person I’ve ever met. It’ll be fine — but — uh — we do only have thirty seconds left, so… It’s a little late to back out.” He guides her hand back down towards his chest, pulling his fingers free from hers as she reaches in once again.

“Oh, Christ, there’s pus.”

“It’s not pus,” Tony says through gritted teeth, hands grasping at the sides of the chair. The last time there had been hands in his chest, the pain had been immense — he can remember his own blood spraying into the air, splashing across his face just as he lost consciousness. _This is Pepper, though. You’re fine._ “It’s an inorganic… plasmic discharge from the device — not from my body.” _Probably too much detail. I need to get better at that._

“It smells,” Pepper groans, her fingers spreading out in the cavity, searching for a loose wire — though everything feels very slimy and intangible.

“Uh huh, sure does — the copper wire, Pep, copper wire. Got it?”

Pepper’s face lights up, “I got it!”

_We’ll make a board game player out of you yet, Potts._

“Great — okay — now pull, but don’t let it touch the si—.” There’s a jolt of electricity, a warning alarm blares, and Tony’s vision tunnels. “Sides,” he wheezes.

“I’m sorry!” Pepper looks horrified, though she keeps tugging the wire out like she’s reeling in a fish, hand over hand.

_Fifteen seconds. Okay, we’re fine._

“Okay, it’s fine — now, before you pull it out, make sure you don’t —.”

There’s a wet _plop_ , Pepper pulls the wire free from his chest, and dangling at the end of it is the electromagnet. Not a big deal, really, Tony had intended on leaving it in his chest just in case — but considering the EKG results on the monitor and the bolded red numbers counting down from 10, they are in a tiny bit of trouble.

“Oh my god!”

“Don’t put it back in!” Tony moves one hand over his chest, blocking Pepper’s access as she tries to shove the dripping electromagnet back inside.

“What’s wrong?” Pepper looms over him, glancing over at the beeping monitor before looking back at his sweating face.

“I’m just going into cardiac arrest, it’s fine —.”

“Oh my fucking —.”

“Get the new one, off the table. You just gotta switch it out.”

Pepper whirls on her heels, snatching the new reactor up from the tray, her copper hair a fiery blur. She rests one slippery hand on his shoulder, looking down at him, green eyes solemn, lips pressed together in a thin line.

“Tony? It’s going to be okay.”

“What?” Tony’s ears are ringing, his mind providing him very detailed images of tiny, sharp, sparkling pieces of shrapnel floating into his right atrium, his heart exploding like a water balloon and spraying blood everywhere. _Pepper, this is not the time for working on your bedside manner._

“It’s gonna be okay, I’m gonna fix it.”

“Let’s hope, Pep, because it’s getting dire.” Tony watches as she grabs hold of the cords dangling from the reactor, coaxing them through the opening, her hands steady. “You’re just gonna attach that to the baseplate, okay? The plug should feel pretty obvious —.”

Tony lets out a shout of surprise, the new reactor glowing in his chest, Pepper quickly inserting it into the socket. He takes a quick glance at the monitor, watching as his heart returns to sinus rhythm. Tony presses a hand to the reactor, fingers tapping over the glass front — would he know if his heart was being filled with shrapnel? Surely it would hurt, right? He inhales slowly, eyebrows furrowing. _Somehow, I don’t know how, we got away with that one. God damn._

“See?” He sits up, reaching for the hand towel folded on the tray. Pepper stands with her feet planted, staring down at her dripping hands. Gently, Tony starts to wipe her hands clean.

“That wasn’t so hard, huh?” The towel flutters to the floor, Pepper slaps her right hand against his chest, once, twice, and then a third time with stinging force.

“Don’t **ever** ask me to do something like that again, Tony.”

_She’s right. I ask too much of her._ Tony rubs the back of his neck, his hair damp with sweat — it really had been a close call. He sucks his teeth, cocking his head.

“Trouble is, Pep, I don’t have anyone but you.”

Pepper opens her mouth, one finger curling against his chest, her fingernail scraping against adhesive residue left behind by one of the electrodes.

“Well…”

She blinks, green eyes clearing, her attention moving to the old reactor, her hand falling away from his smarting chest. “What do you want me to do with that?”

Tony pulls another electrode off of his abdomen, turning away from her as he attempts to throw it into the trash can halfway across the workshop. It flies through the air for a solid foot of distance before landing on the floor, adhesive side down.

“Destroy it, incinerate it, I don’t really care.”

Pepper picks the reactor up, pressing her fingers against its glass front.

“Don’t you want to… keep it?”

Tony’s expression hardens. “No. I’ve been called many things, Pepper. Nostalgic is not one of them. Just get rid of it.”

Tony’s broad back is to her, Pepper longs to reach out and massage the tension from his shoulders. Instead, she cradles the reactor against her and gives him one last uncertain look before moving for the door.

“I’ll be up in a bit,” his tone has softened, he sounds apologetic. Though Tony acts like he doesn’t give a damn about what’s happening with the company, Pepper knows that he’s reading every headline — she can see what emails he’s opened overnight when she checks his account in the morning. Some nights, Pepper can hear him crying out in his sleep through the wall that their rooms share — the panicked noise wakes her abruptly and sets her heart racing. After a few moments, she usually hears his footsteps shuffling down to the workshop. He doesn’t ever come into her room, though one night he had lingered outside of the door — she had watched the doorknob turn slowly — and then he had walked away.

* * *

Pepper wraps a soft grey blanket around herself that she had brought from home, leaning back against the couch as she scrolls through her tablet on her lap. It has been a long day, and the amount of adrenaline that had pumped through her during this afternoon’s impromptu medical procedure has left her feeling exhausted and vaguely hungover. Her back aches, too, though she can’t blame that on Tony — well, actually, she damn well can. Why hasn’t he said anything? Pepper’s hand glances over her once-flat abdomen, feeling the swelling there. The bump isn’t obvious, and she’s taken pains to wear outfits that don’t accentuate it — but still, Tony can be scarily observant when he wants to be.

She sighs, rubbing at her forehead — Tony has a lot on his plate, putting it mildly. It isn’t fair of her to expect him to study her in as much detail as she studies him. If she wants him to know that she’s pregnant, she needs to tell him — and that _is_ on her to-do list, she just keeps moving it down to the bottom of the list. The daily bursts of courage she gets when she decides to tell him are very fleeting, and then she’s left standing in front of him with her mouth gaping open, feeling like an idiot.

“Hungry?” Tony appears, standing at the top of the spiral staircase, his fingers trailing through the waterfall that sluices through the center of the staircase. “I’m starving, doc.”

He has something tucked under his arm, a rectangular cardboard box. Pepper crosses her legs, picking up the tablet and tapping the screen to wake it up.

“I was thinking of ordering something,” she admits, as if pad thai has not been on her mind since she woke up this morning. Pad thai, and maybe some sour gummy worms…

“Oh?” Tony glances over at the kitchen, a fleeting look of disappointment crossing his face, and Pepper feels guilty. As much as Tony apparently hates cooking, she’s heard more laughs from him in the kitchen following his return home than she had heard from him in the past year — and Tony has always laughed a lot.

“I’m tired,” she admits, keeping her head down. “I don’t really feel up to cooking.”

Tony looks at her, back at the kitchen, and then at her again. “I could make something…”

“Can I be honest with you, Tony?” She sets the tablet on the couch beside her, crossing her arms over her chest. “I’m really craving pad thai.”

He smiles — she loves it when he smiles like that, open and easy, crow’s feet deepening. The fake smile printed on the covers of tabloids never reaches his eyes, though those are usually hidden behind sunglasses.

“Let’s order something, then. You too tired for a game?”

Pepper has the tablet back on her lap, scrolling through the menu of her favorite Thai place, only partially listening to Tony.

“Hmm?”

Tony places the rectangular box on the coffee table, stretching his arms up over his head — the flash of tan skin, the juts of his hip bones, the line of dark hair — it really shouldn’t be so distracting, considering the fact he had been shirtless and at her mercy mere hours ago. Then again, electrodes and pus — _inorganic plasmic discharge —_ aren’t exactly the key features of any sexual fantasies Pepper has. She tears her eyes away from him as the hem of his navy blue MIT sweatshirt settles back down, looking instead at the brightly colored box on the coffee table.

On the front of the box, there’s a man wearing a pair of pink boxers covered in hearts, and he appears to be lying on a stretcher. Above him, a sweating doctor in green scrubs reaches out hesitantly, tweezers in hand, intent on plucking a butterfly from the man’s stomach, or perhaps aiming instead for the barbecue ( _?_ ) ribs nestled in his side.

“Operation?” Pepper asks Tony incredulously, swiping a hand over the front of the box, coating her palm in dust. “Where did you get this?”

Tony collapses onto the couch, stretching his arms behind his head. His legs splay over her lap, that damned sweatshirt riding up again. Pepper sighs, looking down at her tablet on the floor, having fallen as a result of a powerful kick from Tony’s foot.

“Pepper, you wound me. Have I never shown you my board game closet?”

“Tony,” Pepper pats his knee, bending over to retrieve her tablet. “If people knew you have a board game closet, you would not be famous.” 

“Ouch,” he says hollowly, resting his head back against the arm of the couch, passing a hand over his face. “I will forgive that, because you’re tired.”

“Thank you,” Pepper says primly, resting the tablet on his shins, poking her pinky finger into a large hole in his right sock. “Honestly, Tony.” Her finger hooks around his big toe, Tony squeals in response and wrenches his foot away from her, knocking her tablet to the floor once again.

“They’re comfortable,” he grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest and closing his eyes. “Let’s order something and play.”

“I’ve had enough digging in bodily cavities for one day,” Pepper replies, blowing her hair out of her face once she’s upright again, tablet in hand. “What do you want to eat?”

“Aw, c’mon Pep, don’t be like that.” He looks at her, head tilted slightly, lips pouting (Pepper is gripped with the instant need to kiss his pout away), brown eyes pleading. “Please?”

Pepper exhales through her nostrils, she can hear Tony muffling a chuckle. “We can play Operation if it means that I don’t have to play another board game for the rest of the month.”

“Ugh, buzzkill.” He kneads his toes into her thigh, reminding her of a cat. “Fine. I agree to your terms.”

“Excellent,” Pepper replies, knocking his foot aside. “What do you want to eat?”

Tony is mercifully quiet as they wait for the food to arrive, his eyebrows furrowed and brown eyes dark with intent as he sets up the board game on the coffee table. He hands Pepper the instructions, printed one-sided on a piece of cardstock the size of a playing card.

“This seems kind of self-explanatory,” Pepper says, flipping the card over to check that there’s nothing on the back.

“Uh, ok, Ms. Potts — Dr. Potts, rather. I forgot that you are an expert surgeon. We’ll see if you’re saying that when you’re trying to get the bread basket out.”

“The what?” Pepper peers over the edge of the card, squinting at the tiny plastic slice of bread Tony is holding between his thumb and forefinger.

“Ugh, Pepper, where is your creativity?” Tony slots the piece into place in the shirtless man’s stomach, rooting around in the box with a huff. “Fuck, where’s the rubber band?”

Pepper reaches up to take her hair down, pulling the hair tie free and offering it to Tony. “Will this work?”

“You’re a lifesaver, Pep. Honestly, where do you keep these things?”

“In my hair,” Pepper says, patting Tony on the shoulder as the doorbell rings. “That’ll be the food. You got cash?”

“My wallet’s by the front door,” Tony tells her, shifting off the couch so that he can get closer to the board, ensuring that every piece has been set. “My treat.”

Pepper returns carrying a plastic bag laden with food, her stomach rumbling audibly. “Can we _please_ eat first?”

“Only because you asked so nicely,” Tony replies, sitting back down on the couch with a dramatic sigh. “Anyone would think that you hate fun, Pepper.”

“I do,” Pepper deadpans, passing him the plastic container with his order. “It’s a good thing I work for you.”

“Are you saying that I’m no fun?” Tony looks to her, eyes wide with mock-hurt, hand pressed against his chest.

“That would be one way to describe working for you, yes,” Pepper replies sweetly, taking the lid off of her pad thai, quickly pulling her chopsticks free of their paper wrapper. “God, I’m starving.”

“Larb,” Tony moans, the sound gives Pepper déjà vu, her cheeks flushing, the mouthful of pad thai nearly going down her trachea instead. Spluttering, she looks over at him.

“Don’t start.”

“I forgot it drives you crazy,” Tony grins at her. “All the more reason…”

“Please don’t.”

“But, Pep, I larb it!”

Pepper groans, scooting down the couch further away from him. “I am not playing Operation with you if you say it one more time.”

Tony is quiet for a few moments, except for the occasional loud crunch. And then, very quietly, more to himself than to her —.

“But I larb you.”

She sets her chopsticks down, her pad thai half eaten, but she can’t be in the same room with him right now. Pepper knows that if she so much as looks at him, her arms will be around his neck, her lips will be against his, their dinner will go cold — and everything between them will become infinitely more complicated. She springs to her feet, hurrying to the kitchen.

“Can I get you a drink, Tony?” She asks without looking back at him, passing through the door before he can answer.

“A beer would be great, thank you, Pepper,” Tony’s reply comes after a pause, and he sounds oddly formal.

Pepper presses her forehead to the cool stainless steel of the fridge, closing her eyes. Once she feels as though she’s regained her composure, she opens the fridge and grabs him a bottle of Peroni. She pauses by the drawer next to the dishwasher, pulling it open — Tony’s secret stash. It is stuffed with all of his favorite candies — Skittles, Haribo gummy bears, several Reese’s peanut butter cups, mini M&Ms, and Kit-Kats. Tony also keeps it stocked for his frequent guests: Obadiah — boxes of Good & Plenty, Rhodey — sour gummy worms, Happy — Almond Joys, and Pepper — Junior Mints. Pepper grabs a pack of sour gummy worms, making a mental note to restock before Rhodey swings by the house again — which might be difficult, given the frequency of his surprise visits.

She returns to the living room, the gummy worms held under her arm, a glass of water for herself in one hand, Tony’s beer in the other. Tony is sitting comfortably on the couch, his eyes fixed on his food, though he does murmur his thanks when she sets the beer in front of him. He doesn’t comment on the candy, which Pepper tears into once she’s finished her dinner, expertly plucking out the red and blue worms first.

Tony leans back against the couch, bringing the bottle up to his lips, but Pepper can feel his right arm as it snakes behind her, his hand rests against her shoulder. She sighs, letting him pull her against his side. He smells good, he must’ve taken a shower at some point since she’d seen him this afternoon — before, he had smelled of hair gel and antiseptic.

His jaw rests against the side of her head, she lets herself nestle closer to him, and doesn’t complain when he reaches into the bag of gummy worms and withdraws a handful.

“Stuff going on at work?”

Pepper nods against him, her hand resting against his chest, feeling the slow beat of his heart against her palm, and hearing the faintest hum from the reactor.

“Want to talk about it?”

“There’s not much to say,” Pepper murmurs. “When people can’t get to you, they take it out on me. It’s just been hard.”

His arm squeezes her comfortingly, her eyes drift shut as his lips press against the top of her head, the gesture so intimate and unexpected that she feels tears sting her eyes. _Why can’t I just tell him?_

“I’m sorry, Pepper. I can go back to work —.”

“No,” Pepper says quickly, lifting her head so that she can look into his eyes. “No, Tony, you don’t need to do that. You need to recover, you deserve a break. I can handle it, I promise, it’s just sometimes…”

Tony stares into her eyes, his own darting down to her lips for a fraction of a second, but Pepper notices. She untangles himself from his arm, leaning forward to pick up the instructions for Operation again, trying to distract the both of them.

“C’mon, Tony, let’s play.”

Even though she’s not looking at him, she can tell that he’s running a hand over his face by the scratching sound of his goatee against his palm.

“Alright.” He stands from the couch, grabbing a throw pillow and carrying it with him as he moves to the other side of the coffee table. He settles down on the floor, looking up at her. “You’re younger, so you go first.”

Pepper picks up the tweezers, taking the card that is offered to her.

A furious test of fine-motor skills ensues, Tony and Pepper soon become quite competitive. There’s one particularly tense moment at the end of the game when Tony is leaning over the board, eyes fixed on the ice cream cone piece in the man’s skull, the tweezers held in his steady hand — and Pepper knocks her foot against the coffee table just as the tweezers move into the opening. There’s a loud buzz, the man’s nose lighting up bright red, and Tony looks up at her in betrayal.

“How could you?”

“My foot twitched,” Pepper grins at him, “totally not my fault.”

“It totally is! I was going to win!” Tony jumps to his feet, stalking towards her. He towers over her from where she sits on the couch, his hands on his hips, face flushed with righteous indignation.

“You were,” Pepper admits, looking up at him innocently. “But that’s what you pay me for.”

“What?” Tony blinks. “What do I pay you for?”

Her innocent expression transforms into a smirk. “To keep your ego in check, Mr. Stark.”

Tony blinks again, his hands dropping from his hips to hang loosely at his sides. “Well…” He considers her words, and then nods. “You’re entirely right, Ms. Potts. Thank you for your service.”

“Of course, Mr. Stark.” She smiles up at him, their eyes meet, and the energy in the room changes in an instant. His right hand moves, palm pressing against her cheek, she feels his thumb glance over her bottom lip.

“Pepper,” Tony says softly.

Without thinking, she grabs him by the front of his sweatshirt and pulls him down to her. He lets out a surprised hum as her lips press to his, blindly lowering himself down onto the couch beside her.

This is how it had started last time, he remembers, sat on a couch with Pepper Potts. Except things are different now, he is different — but his wanting her has not changed at all. He runs his fingers through her hair, idly rubbing a few silky strands between his fingertips. She tastes like sour gummy worms, which isn’t surprising, they’d demolished the entire bag in the course of their game. The weight of her in his lap is comforting, with her fingers toying with the hair at the nape of his neck, it could almost be four months ago.

If he could go back in time, would he change things? Would he have let himself fall back into Pepper Potts’ bed, sent Rhodey a text telling him he was terribly sick, called the whole trip off? His instinctive answer to that question is yes, as Pepper’s teeth tease his bottom lip, her slender fingers wrapping around the hem of his sweatshirt, pulling it slowly up. If he had not gone to Afghanistan, he would not have nightmares — he would not wake up in the middle of the night, sweat-soaked sheets wrapped around him, the red-hot glow of the poker still visible in the darkness, though Yinsen’s kneeling figure had long since faded. But then, Tony would not have changed — he would still be the nauseating man he looks back on now and despises wholeheartedly.

He reaches for the zipper of Pepper’s dress, her breaths hot and fast against his lips, she shudders against him when the zipper rasps and his palm brushes over the bare skin of her back.

She breaks the kiss, pulling his sweatshirt up over his head, the reactor shining brightly between them. Tony grins at her, leaning in to kiss her again, but Pepper pulls back suddenly.

Tony doesn’t know what has changed, but her body is tense under his hands, she’s leaning back on his lap, trying to get as far away from him as possible without moving off of him.

“Tony,” Pepper whispers, cupping his face in her hand. “I need... You need to… Look, I’m…”

Tony nods sharply, pulling his hands away from her. He reaches for his sweatshirt where it dangles off the edge of the couch, tugging it over his head, his desire for her so overwhelming he feels as though he’ll go crazy if they stop now. But she’s uncertain, he can understand why — they’ve danced around talking about that night ever since he got back.

His hands gently rest on her hips, lifting her off of him and onto the couch beside him. He looks down at his lap, grimacing, and attempts to rearrange his sweatpants so that his erection isn’t so noticeably distracting. _No dice._ Alright, he’ll have to have a serious conversation with Pepper feeling like he’s back at boarding school, standing at a blackboard with a boner in front of the entire class. 

“Pepper,” he starts, though his voice sounds weird — strangled and thick. He clears his throat and tries again, tugging at the neck of his sweatshirt, trying to keep his anxious hands busy.

“I care about you very much.” Tony glances at her, noticing the way she’s clutching one of the pillows to her chest, her hair wisping around her face, teeth worrying her bottom lip — her bright red lipstick is smeared. He reaches up and presses the pad of his index finger to his lips, feeling the tackiness of her lipstick there.

“You know I feel more for you than that,” Tony says, leaning forward towards her, trying to be emphatic with both his words and his body language. “You **_know_** I do. But I can’t give you the words — I want to give you the words! I do. Because you deserve to hear them from me, to know that I… That I…”

With a huff of frustration, he gets to his feet, pacing in front of the coffee table. Pepper sits silently on the couch, watching him as he strides around the room, trying to build up her courage to tell him the words that he deserves to hear as well.

“I’m working on something big,” Tony says as he stops by the grand piano, his back to her as fingers brush over the lacquered lid covering the keys. “Something really big — and I know that I have to do it. But it’s going to take up a lot of my time, it’s going to be…” _Dangerous_. But if he tells her that, she’ll panic.

“It’s okay, Tony,” Pepper finds her voice, but not the words she wants to say. “Just — forget about it.”

He turns to face her, his expression anguished, hands gesturing wildly — a nervous tic of his she has seen in only in private, a habit mostly stamped out of him by his father.

“That’s the thing, Pepper — I can’t forget it. Because I want — you! I want to be with you. But I can’t, not right now — not while I do this… It’s not fair on you. And I’m not going to ask you to wait for me, because that’s not fair either — so I need you to... go back home.” His hands lower, shoulders slumping, eyes downcast.

“Please, Pepper. Go home.”

Pepper feels as though she’s floating outside of her body, watching as she sets the pillow back on the couch and gets to her feet. She watches as she reaches behind herself and pulls the zipper of her dress up as far as it will go, her hands trembling. She comes back into herself when she presses a soft kiss to his lips, resting her hands against his heaving chest.

“Alright, Tony, I’ll go,” she murmurs, kissing him again, one last time. “But I want you to know that I care very much about you too — and I do want to be with you… and that I’ll wait.”

Tony shakes his head as she pulls away, hiding his face in his hands, she watches as he digs his fingernails into the soft skin of his forehead — he’s punishing himself, and she wishes that he wouldn’t.

“Call me if you need anything, okay?” She walks towards the foyer, looking back at him. Tony has sat down at the piano bench, his head still in his hands, elbows resting on the lid — she almost walks back to him, almost tells him. “Please, **please** call me if you need anything, Tony.” 

Tony doesn’t reply, he doesn’t move even after the front door shuts, even after he hears Pepper’s car start, hears her tires crunch against the gravel driveway as she leaves.

“I love you,” he says quietly, the house silent.

“I love you,” he says louder, getting to his feet, pushing himself away from the piano.

“I love you!” He turns, flinching at the sudden movement of his reflection in the floor-to-ceiling windows overlooking the ocean. His teeth click together as he bites down suddenly, hands clenching into fists at his sides. His eyes are dark with loathing as he stares at his reflection. _Why do I ruin everything?_

“You are a man who has everything, and nothing,” Yinsen says in his ear, Tony brings his hands up to cover his ears, not wanting to hear the words, but they repeat again and again in his head.

“Stop,” Tony’s voice trembles, his fingers pull savagely at his hair until his vision starts to blur with tears, until Yinsen’s echoing voice finally fades.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.?”

“Yes, sir?”

“Shut down communications to the house,” Tony says, voice steadying as he walks to the staircase, hurrying down the steps two at a time.

“For everyone, sir?”

“Everyone,” Tony says, shouldering open the door to the workshop. Yinsen had also told him not to waste his life, and he won’t — he’s been given a second chance for a reason.

“We’ve got work to do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> man, was last week the week from hell for anyone else? hopefully this week is better! thank you for reading, commenting, and kudosing - it always makes my day!


	5. Chapter 5

Pepper turns the key with a sigh, her car falling silent around her. She scoots forward on her seat, the steering wheel pressing uncomfortably against her chest, and looks up through the rain-splattered windshield at the dark grey sky. A bolt of lightning forks across the sky, the thunder rumbling through her black BMW, her teeth jarring together.

“Great,” she says to herself. “Just great.”

She picks her umbrella up from the footwell of the passenger seat, looking again at the sky with a grimace. Her OBGYN’s office now seems to be several hundred yards away, rather than thirty feet from where she’s parked. Last night, curled up in bed, Pepper had considered postponing this appointment. She’s supposed to learn the sex of their — her — baby today, but going alone had seemed unfathomable. Without Tony at her side, this appointment feels like a betrayal, adding a twisted depth to the secret that she’s keeping from him.

She has seen Tony only once since that night.

She had gone down to his workshop, carrying the engraved reactor wrapped in brown paper, and had informed him that Obadiah was waiting to speak to him upstairs. She can still hear the blast in her ears — whatever ‘flight stabilizer’ Tony was working on had seemed more like a weapon as it had thrown him backwards into one of his vintage cars, the bruising force of the collision had made her wince. Tony had taken Obadiah’s news of the board filing an injunction against him like it was nothing, snatching the box of pizza from Obadiah and scampering back down to the safety and seclusion of his workshop. She hasn’t seen him since — she knows he’s alive, though. In the course of a month, they’ve had two very brief phone calls and exchanged polite emails with each other.

There was also what had happened last Monday, though Pepper isn’t sure if it counts as a true interaction. Pepper had stepped onto her front step, blinking in the morning sun, and had walked directly into a large cardboard box. Sawing through the tape with her keys, she had found neat stacks of the clothes she had left at Tony’s house, along with the photo of her parents she had put in his office when it had been hers. No note, nothing — he hadn’t even knocked at the door. She still hasn’t unpacked the box, it rests against the end of her bed and waits for her to accept the reality of her situation, that Tony doesn’t want a relationship, that Tony is busy with other things.

Pepper pulls her cellphone out of her purse, opening up the contacts list, the entry for ‘Mom’ flashing as she hovers over it. She almost clicks the call button, but then, how can she explain herself? She calls her parents once a week, usually on Sunday evenings — how can she explain five months of little white lies?

_“Are you seeing anyone, dear?”_

_“No, Mom, I haven’t found any time for it since you last asked me — Actually, Mom, you know Tony Stark, my boss? Infamous man-whore? He and I actually slept together the night before my birthday, and now I’m pregnant with his baby. And the best part? He doesn’t want anything to do with me!”_

Yeah, that would go down a treat.

The phone clatters back into her purse, Pepper slips the straps over her shoulder, preparing herself for the warm raindrops that will land on her head as she fumbles to open the umbrella like always. Throwing open the door, Pepper thrusts the umbrella outside like a sword, fingers pressing urgently against the button to extend it, curses muttered under her breath. Finally, it springs open, and Pepper gets out of the car just in time for another bolt of lightning. Heart hammering, she walks as fast as she can to the front door, doing her best to avoid the deeper looking puddles, but still managing to get splashes of water across her skirt.

Once inside the lobby, Pepper exhales, glancing back through the door as the rain starts pelting down harder.

“Terrible out there,” the receptionist greets her with a warm smile, checking Pepper in efficiently and ushering her over to the comfortable plush chairs.

Pepper settles down into one, her purse resting on her lap. She feels the buzz of her phone and fishes it out, ignoring the hopeful voice at the back of her mind that suggests that Tony is contacting her.

James Rhodes: _Hey, Pepper. Are you going tonight?_

Pepper feels her stomach twist with anxiety. Before her pregnancy, she never had trouble remembering her calendar appointments — what is tonight? Quickly, she opens up her calendar app, clicking on today’s schedule. There’s this appointment for 9am, followed by a meeting with an investor at 2pm ( _Chuck, he’s always nice_ ), and then the rest of her day is free. She scrolls down a little further and sees a greyed out event for 7pm. She had declined her invitation to Tony’s annual benefit gala for the Firefighter’s Family Fund last month, wanting to keep her secret for as long as she can.

She glances over at the receptionist, and then to the door leading back to the examination rooms. She’s a little early for this appointment, a habit drummed into her after suffering through the embarrassment of her parents’ consistent tardiness. She probably has time for a few texts without appearing rude. She types quickly, the buttons clicking under her thumbs.

_Hi, Jim! Sorry, I won’t be going tonight, you’ll have to find another date :)_

Rhodey’s reply is almost immediate: _Haha, very funny. I’m not going either. You know if T is?_

Pepper frowns down at her phone, knowing she shouldn’t feel guilty about this, she’d approved the guest list, after all. Tony doesn’t like galas, anyways, he’s talked her ear off with complaints about rubbing elbows with California’s high society — so when Obadiah had suggested that Tony’s name be removed from the guest list, Pepper hadn’t argued. He probably won’t even notice, and if he does, he won’t care — Tony is too involved with his new project to give a damn about ballroom dancing. He might regret missing the open bar, if anything.

_No, he’s still not himself. Obadiah didn’t want a scene, so no invite._

Her phone buzzes again just as the door opens, Pepper glances down to read the message, her thumb resting over the power button. _Ouch. Probably the right call, though. Lunch together soon?_

Her sonographer is a tall, dark-haired man with an easy smile and a comforting voice. He nods in understanding when Pepper tells him that she doesn’t want to be told the sex of the baby today.

“If you want, I can write it on a piece of paper and put it in an envelope? With a couple of ultrasound pictures — and then you can open it when you want to know. I’ll tell you when to look away from the screen, too… Though,” he grins, raising a sculpted eyebrow at her — _Christ, is he flirting with me? —_ “I don’t know if you’d be able to tell for yourself, anyways.”

Pepper feels relieved, brushing her hand over her abdomen, not looking forward to the cold gel — but she is looking forward to seeing her baby on the screen. She had first felt its little movements a week ago, the sudden shift inside of her like a flutter of butterflies, her hand flying away from her keyboard and to her stomach. She had smiled — Pepper may have felt like she was going through this alone but that subtle fluttering had reminded her that she had never been alone at all. 

When she walks out of the doctor’s office, sealed envelope in hand, it has stopped raining. After unlocking the door, she pauses before getting into the car. The sky is a brilliant blue, the clouds are perfect puffs of white, and she has seen her baby today. Pepper smiles, pressing her hand to her abdomen again.

“Everything’s going to be alright,” she says, both to herself and to the baby. “We can do this together, you and me. We’ll be fine. I promise.”

* * *

Rage pumps through his veins. As he stumbles through the workshop, there’s a sickening burst of self-loathing that knocks the wind out of him. Tony hunches over, hands on his knees, and gags. He had gone to the gala tonight to prove the rumormongers wrong — he was not bedridden and insane, but suave and handsome like always. As he had put on his tuxedo and left J.A.R.V.I.S. to paint Mark III in red and gold, he had even fantasized about Pepper being at the gala. She would be wearing the blue dress she’d gotten for her birthday, the matching necklace twinkling at her throat, and they would dance together. It wouldn’t be awkward at all. His hands would rest on her waist at first, one would maybe stray to rest against the small of her back, bare thanks to the backless design of the dress. They would sway across the dance floor, just the two of them, and just as the song starts to come to an end, Tony would tell her that he loves her.

Pepper hadn’t been at the gala, he had circled the ballroom five times, searching for a redhead amidst the blondes and brunettes. He hadn’t found her — instead, a reporter named Christine Everhart had found him, and glossy photographs crammed into her clutch changed the course of his evening.

The course of his life had changed as he stood beside Obadiah Stane on the red carpet, the other man’s arm wrapped around his shoulders, an expression of fatherly affection. Obadiah’s toothy grin had reflected the flashes of dozens of cameras, Tony’s face draining of color as Obadiah spoke out of the side of his mouth, side-stepping Tony’s accusations of double-dealing weaponry, all the while admitting that he had been the one to lock Tony out of his own company.

He pulls his suit jacket off, fabric tearing, violently kicking it away from him. Faintly in the background, the news on the television continues to play, but Tony doesn’t pay attention to it as he stalks towards his worktable, shucking off his dress shirt. His fingers tremble as they wrap around a freshly painted gauntlet, the gold gleaming in the overhead light. He pushes his right arm into it, his fingers splayed out, the metal encasing his forearm. The muscles of his jaw jump as he connects a thick white cord from the gauntlet to his reactor, snaking it under his tanktop with a hiss as a spark of energy singes his fingers. He grabs a screwdriver from his toolbox, intent on tightening a joint in one of the fingers. The repulsor in his palm glows, whining faintly, and he doesn’t give a damn if he accidentally blasts his head off of his shoulders.

Gulmira. Yesterday. How could Obadiah do this? Tony knows, has always known, that Obadiah Stane is not a ‘good’ man. No one making millions off of the deaths of countless innocents can be a good person, that’s a fundamental truth that Tony has been very aware of since his parents died, having seen it in action in Howard Stark, and then in himself. But Obadiah — Uncle Obie — he had always been there for Tony, dusting him off when his father had thrown him aside, visiting him at boarding school, taking him out for ice cream, steering him away from controversy, quashing salacious headlines in the early days of Tony’s sexual explorations. He has always had Tony’s best interests at heart.

Until now.

Tony cocks back his left arm, fingers clenched around the screwdriver tightly, and he hurls it across the workshop. DUM-E whirs in surprise and confusion, spinning to face him, the screwdriver clattering against DUM-E’s baseplate.

Rage flares inside of Tony again, his feet carrying him towards the television, unable to bring himself apologize to DUM-E, even though he should.

A newscaster speaks in the background as Tony stands beside the couch, opening and closing his gauntleted hand.

“The 15-mile hike to the outskirts of Gulmira —.” Tony’s head snaps up, eyes fixed on the television screen, jaw tightening.

_All of this, because of me. Because I sat idly by and let Obadiah do everything — because I was too busy drinking and fucking to give a damn._

Tony snarls, raising his arm, and a burst of energy issues from the repulsor in his palm, a light fixture halfway across the workshop falls with a crash, sparks flying from torn wires. His stomach roils threateningly, breath whistling in his constricting throat. He turns away from the ruined light fixture and now faces his reflection in the glass walls of the entryway to the workshop.

His reflection stares back at him, brown eyes dark with hatred.

“Don’t waste your life, Stark,” Yinsen breathes, blood bubbling on his lips. “Don’t waste it.”

The glass wall in front of him shatters into a million pieces, Tony twisting to blast the second one, whirling around to destroy the third. His heart races in his chest, he feels as though it’s going to break through his ribcage, his gauntleted arm still hangs in the air.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony doesn’t recognize his voice, it’s low, deep, and vengeful. “I need to suit up.”

* * *

The pictures of Tony at the gala keep her awake that night, scrolling through Twitter, zooming in on his pale face as he stands beside Obadiah Stane. There’s something in the set of Tony’s jaw, something about the way Obadiah’s fingers seem to be digging into Tony’s shoulder — Tony does not want to be there, but Obadiah is holding him in place. Those pictures haunt her.

In the morning, Pepper opens her eyes blearily, her cellphone propped against her cheek. She presses three fingers to her forehead, a feeble attempt to ward off a headache. Her fingers slip down to her phone, pulling it away from her face. It would be just her luck for it to have left lines in the skin of her cheek, but she hadn’t planned on going into the office today anyways.

She squints at the screen, opening up her message thread with Tony, sending the text before she has time to second-guess herself: _How was last night?_

There’s no response, which is worrying — is he upset that he hadn’t been invited? Mad at her because she hadn’t told him about the gala, had left him no choice but to gate-crash his own party? Or perhaps he is still asleep, wrapped up in the arms of whomever he had taken home with him last night. Though… the Tony in those pictures on Twitter did not look like the familiar Tony on the hunt for a quick fuck.

She tries to push him from her mind for the rest of the day, though she does call him around 4 pm, her eyes stinging from staring at her computer screen for hours on end. The phone rings and rings, and then Tony speaks.

“Hi! You’ve reached the voicemail of Tony Stark. I’m probably never going to answer the phone, so you should call my assistant instead of leaving a message. She’d love that. Her name is Pepper Potts, and her phone number is —.” Pepper hangs up with a sigh. Fine, he doesn’t want to talk to her.

After work, she sits in her pajamas on the couch with a steaming bowl of spaghetti and meatballs and tries the house number instead. It lacks a voicemail — J.A.R.V.I.S. always answers when Tony does not.

“Good evening, Ms. Potts. How may I help you?”

“Hi, J. Is Tony home?” Not that the AI would admit to Tony screening his calls, but it’s worth a shot.

“He’s not, ma’am.”

Pepper nods, twirling pasta on her fork slowly. “Do you know when he’ll be back?”

“Actually, I do. Mr. Stark is due to arrive home at 11:07 pm.”

Pepper blinks, setting her fork down against the side of the bowl. “That seems to be quite the precise ETA, J.A.R.V.I.S.”

“Yes, Ms. Potts. Shall I tell Mr. Stark that you called?”

What would Tony do with that information? Pepper closes her eyes, imagining him shrugging his shoulders. No, she knows what time he’ll be home — she’ll just stop by.

“No need, J. Thanks.”

“You are most welcome, Ms. Potts.”

* * *

_Thank God for autopilot._ Tony had spent the long flight home half-asleep, trusting J.A.R.V.I.S. to get him back to Malibu in one piece, and the AI had not disappointed him. He swoops into the garage, landing heavily on the elevated platform he had built for suiting up, and the less pleasant task of removing the suit. His body aches, he knows that under the neoprene bodysuit, his skin will be a patchwork of bruises, he knows that he’ll struggle to take anything longer than a shuffling step. But the pain is worth it. He closes his eyes as the gantries rise up out of the floor around him, drills whirring, locking into the joints of his suit. The explosion he had been caught in had been a starburst against the back of his eyelids for hours afterwards, his ears ringing from the blast that had destroyed the cache of Stark Industries weapons. Not to mention the run in with the Air Force. _Christ, what a mess._

He has a new task, a new purpose — to seek out these caches, of which he is certain there are many, and destroy them. There is nothing else in the world worth his time, he will not be able to sleep at night knowing that there are missiles with his name plastered on them being used to kill innocents. He’s ashamed that he had never before considered what his weaponry would be used for after signing off on their designs. No, all Tony had cared about was the amount in his bank account, money printed in the blood of the people he’s killed, splashed out on vintage cars, art pieces he promptly chucked into a storage unit, overflowing alcohol, mind-numbing drugs, and forgettable sex.

He is not a good man, but he can try to act like one.

Tony blinks as the helmet is removed from his head, trying to raise a hand to his face to shield his eyes from the bright lights of his workshop, but both of his arms are being held in place by robotic claws.

“Aw, fuck,” he writhes as he’s lifted up off the floor suddenly, his stomach giving a threatening swoop.

“It’s a tight fit, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S. says politely. “The more you struggle, the more this is going to hurt.”

“Hurt?! Why should it — ow, fuck! That’s my — be careful.” Tony tries to tug his leg away, eyes watering, one robotic claw had accidentally pinched the skin of his inner thigh, dangerously high up.

“Be careful,” he repeats, watching the robotic arm closely as it moves to his leg again, pulling the panel encasing his thigh away.

_Okay, once I get out of this thing, I’m gonna take a shower. Then maybe catch a quick catnap. I should call Rhodey, too, I owe him an explanation. Poor bastard had to do a press conference._

J.A.R.V.I.S. had streamed a snippet for him on his HUD during his flight home, in-flight entertainment, the AI had cheekily called it. Rhodey had looked infinitely uncomfortable behind a podium, glancing down at his prepared cards and reading the phrase ‘training exercise’ with only the slightest hint of annoyance. Annoyance directed at Tony, and he knows he deserves it.

_Okay. Shower, Rhodey, nap. Then fix the suit. After that, deal with Obadiah and find the other shipments._

“What’s going on here?”

Tony’s head jerks to the right, eyes widening — Pepper Potts stands just beyond one of the glass panels he had destroyed, shards of glass glittering menacingly all over the floor.

_Scratch that. Deal with Pepper, shower, Rhodey, nap, suit, Obie, shipments._

She’s not wearing pajamas, despite how late it is. Tony’s lips quirk into a smile, Pepper Potts is wearing jeans, that must be a first. She has her purse slung over her shoulder, part of it blocks her light grey t-shirt from view, and something blue sparkles at the base of her throat as she steps into the light. Tony’s eyes focus, catching sight of a thin platinum chain around her neck. Satisfaction spreads below his skin, she’s wearing her birthday present.

“Let’s face it,” Tony unfurls one gauntleted hand, wiggling his fingers in a wave, his arm still held motionless. “This is not the worst thing you’ve caught me doing, Pep.”

She doesn’t even blush, that’s how Tony knows that he’s in significant trouble.

“Hurry this up, J,” he mutters.

“Of course, sir, if you would just stay still…”

Pepper picks her way over the shattered glass, slowly making her way over to the platform. She doesn’t know where to look first — there’s the thing Tony’s wearing, to begin with, a red and gold metallic suit. They had discussed how he had escaped his captors, but Tony had never mentioned making another suit for his own entertainment — though calling whatever has left the suit riddled with jagged holes, deep dents, and blast marks ‘entertainment’ would be a stretch, in Pepper’s opinion.

She reaches out, her finger tracing over a hole punched through the metal over his abdomen.

“Are these… bullet holes?”

Tony winces, looking away from her, and in the harsh overhead lighting, Pepper catches sight of a black oval on the side of his neck. Her eyes range over his face, finding another one at his temple, marring the smooth skin she had once pressed her lips against.

“Okay,” Tony lets out a long sigh, the chest piece of the suit pulled away from him, revealing the bodysuit he wears underneath. “This looks… Uh…”

“Tony, what have you _done_?”

Her tone is one of horror, there’s the faintest hint of accusation as well, it turns the joy he has felt following the success of his mission to ash.

“Just let me get out of this thing, Pepper, then I’ll explain.”

She presses her hand over her eyes. “I don’t understand. You were at the gala, I saw pictures — where could you have gone? J.A.R.V.I.S. said you were out, but I just figured that you were with a — someone.”

Tony is lowered to his feet, his arms finally free, though the loss of the suit’s weight throws him off balance. He staggers forward on the platform, pressing a hand below his ribs with a grimace.

“With someone,” he repeats, shaking his head as he steps off the platform beside her. “Pepper, come on. I — I said —.”

“You said you wanted to be with me and then kicked me out of your house, Tony,” she replies, her hand still pressed against her face. “You’re changing the subject.”

She’s right, which is infuriating. Tony starts to peel the bodysuit off, wriggling out of the tight material. Pepper peers at him between parted fingers, and then turns her back to him once she realizes that he is fifteen seconds away from being completely naked in front of her.

“Oh, thank you for preserving my modesty, Pepper,” Tony mutters, hopping on one leg as he pulls his other leg free from the suit. “It’s nothing you haven’t seen before.”

Pepper says nothing, though he hears the faintest impatient huff from her. He walks over to his desk, feeling bow-legged. He glances down quickly, eyes widening, there’s a massive oblong bruise darkening his abdomen. He lifts his head as he reaches his desk, grabbing the dress pants and undershirt he’d folded neatly and left for himself after the gala. Best to ignore the bruises, best to keep going — bruises will heal, he will heal — destroying the weapons, that’s what’s important.

Once he’s dressed, he pushes his fingers through his hair, taking a deep breath before turning to face her. Pepper has finally removed her hand from her face, she’s looking at him with such intensity that Tony takes a step back and bumps into the desk. She’s only looked at him like that a handful of times — her sighing his name in his ear, her fingernails digging into the muscle of his back as he thrusts into her. _Christ. Focus, Stark._

“What is going on, Tony?”

“J, can you bring up the upper half of the suit, please?” He starts to walk back towards the platform, a gantry rising from the floor again, holding the torso, arms, and helmet of the suit aloft. Tony grabs his toolbox, lowering himself into a squat beneath the suit, his thighs screaming, and starts to inspect the interior. He can still feel Pepper’s gaze fixed on him, piercing through him.

“I need you to do me a favor.”

“Tony,” she snaps, he nearly drops the welder in his hands. “Stop changing the subject!”

“I’m not, Pepper,” he tips his head back as sparks fly, he really should be wearing a mask — or sunglasses, at least. But getting any sort of protective equipment would involve walking past her, and there’s no way she’d let him return to the suit, no way she’d let him hide himself away from her. “I need you to go into my office. Not right now, obviously, it’s too late and you being there would attract attention. But in the morning, I need you to go — there’s a lock chip over there, on my desk.”

He points to the desk without looking, not wanting to see the disappointment in her eyes.

“Looks like a usb drive. You’ll plug it into my computer, it’s going to get you into the mainframe. I want you to get me all of the recent shipping manifests, within the last six months — you’ll probably find them under Executive Files. The last five years would be fantastic, but I think we’ll be pushing it for time…If they’re not under Executive Files, they could very well be under a ghost drive, in which case you’ll need to look for the lowest numeric heading.”

He closes his eyes as the welder ignites again, but over the shrill whine of soldering metal, he can hear her footsteps as she walks to the desk.

“And what are you going to do with this information, if I get it for you?”

“Pepper,” Tony sets down the welder, rubbing at his aching thighs. “Obadiah has been dealing weapons under the table. For years, I think. I was approached last night at the gala with evidence that Stark Industries is not only continuing its weapons manufacturing, but shipping them out — and not to the military. I went to Gulmira and I destroyed the cache. You’re going to bring me the shipping manifests, I am going to go wherever the weapons were sent, and I am going to destroy them.”

“Tony…” Pepper hesitates, watching as Tony grabs at the suit and uses it as leverage to pull himself up onto his feet. He turns to face her, the muscles of his forearms tense under his bruised skin, there’s another dark oval over his left wrist. “I would help you with anything, you know that — but I can’t help you with this.”

His jaw juts, brown eyes darkening. “Don’t you understand, Pepper? There is **nothing** except this. There’s no art opening, there’s no gala, there’s no more fucking paperwork. There is the next manifest, the next mission, and nothing else.”

Pepper’s own eyes darken, her arms crossing over her chest, though Tony can see the end of the lock chip between her fingers.

“Is that so? Then I quit.”

Tony laughs humorlessly. “Come on, Pepper. Really? After putting up with my shit for years, when I finally try to… to fix things, to help, to be a good person… You’re going to quit?”

Pepper’s eyes meet his, her chest rising and falling rapidly, a pink flush spreading over her cheeks.

“You are going to kill yourself, Tony. I’m not going to be a part of that, responsible for that — in whatever way, no matter how slight. I can’t… I couldn’t, if you…”

Tony steps down from the platform, extending his hands towards her, his anger has faded away to tenderness. He comes to a stop in front of her and gently rests his hands against her upper arms, keeping his hold on her loose.

“Pepper, I shouldn’t be alive unless it was for a reason. I’m not crazy, and I’m not going to get myself killed. I just finally know what I have to do, and I know in my heart that it’s right. I have to do this and I need your help. Please.”

Pepper’s lips part, Tony feels a faint shudder run through her, feels the warmth of her breath as she exhales shakily. She stares at his face searchingly, green eyes fixing on brown. After a moment, she seems to find whatever it is she’s looking for inside of him, giving the faintest nod.

“Tony,” she whispers, “I’m pregnant.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> there you go, pepper FINALLY told him! how will tony take it? find out next monday ;)


	6. Chapter 6

Tony’s mind goes blank. It’s an unnerving, alien sensation. Usually, he has no trouble rolling with the punches, he’s known for his quips and quick wit. With three words, Pepper has sent him spiralling into bone-chilling panic, all the knowledge and memories that he has accumulated over the years have disappeared with no hope for retrieval, just empty space where reality used to be.

_It might not be mine._ With that irrational but ebulliently hopeful thought, everything else comes rushing back — the suit, the reactor, Afghanistan, Pepper’s fingers sinking into his hair, Happy’s laugh, Rhodey’s grin, his father’s scowl, his mother’s fingers dancing effortlessly over piano keys.

Holding her at arm’s length, his grip tightening slightly, Tony’s eyes flick down the length of her and stop about halfway down. _How could I have not noticed **that** before? Well, I haven’t been the most attentive to her recently, I guess that’s true. _Something clicks, Tony can practically feel the synapses firing in his brain. _All those times she looked like she wanted to tell me something. And I never asked._

“How far along are you?” He knows the answer to this question, his palms are starting to sweat.

“Five months now,” Pepper replies quietly.

Tony recoils, jerking his hands from her suddenly as if to touch her was to burn. The slight line between his eyebrows, the downward curve of his lips, the tensing of his jaw. His face betrays him for a heartbeat, but it is time enough for Pepper to know, this glimpse of his misery and revulsion.

“So,” Tony passes a hand over his face, turning away from her. Pepper is left to look at his back, so tense under the ribbed white fabric of his undershirt, his shoulder blades sharp ridges jutting outwards. “February?”

Pepper starts to reach out to him, fingers stretching outwards, but just as her fingers glance against his shoulder, he walks away from her.

“Yes, due in February.” It’s all she can say, her hand grasping at empty air. It feels as though her throat is constricting, her vision is narrowing, Tony is walking away from her — away from _this_.

“My mother was born in February,” Tony replies, his tone one of conditioned politeness. He is buying himself time as he tries to process the news, as he tries to understand how this could have happened.

He stops in front of the platform, hands on his hips as he inspects the damaged torso of the suit. _It’s going to need to be repainted._

Tipping his head back, Tony closes his eyes and thinks back on the night they had shared — a memory he had rarely allowed himself to relive, only when he had been absolutely certain that Yinsen was thoroughly unconscious. 

“I didn’t use a condom.”

“No,” Pepper replies hollowly, “you didn’t.”

_Fuck._ Tony breathes out slowly and then takes another deep breath in. “So you…?”

“So I what?” Anger starts to seep into Pepper’s tone, Tony’s shoulders rise instinctively at the abrupt change, as if he’s preparing himself for a blow. “So I kept it? Yes, I did.”

“Why?” He turns to face her, hands at his sides, trying to keep his body language open. Pepper, on the other hand, is completely closed off, her purse further in front of her now. Her green eyes are dark — not with desire, as they had been on _that night_ , but with anger and hurt.

“Because…” Pepper sniffs, her fingers digging into the side of her purse, Tony watches as her knuckles whiten. “Because I didn’t realize until you were... gone. We all thought you were dead. And I…” She trails off for a moment, looking away from him. Tony watches her pulse jump at the base of her throat, her pale skin flushed pink. “I wanted to keep it.”

“Do you know if it’s a boy or a girl?”

Tony’s question disarms her, is he expressing interest? His immediate reaction had been one of dismay, but maybe…

“No, I don’t,” Pepper tries to slow her racing heart, tries to guard her burgeoning hope in case he destroys it. “I… The sonographer wrote it down and put it in an envelope. I wanted… I wanted us to open it together.”

Tony’s eyebrows draw together, that little line between them is back, his nostrils flare. Pepper’s hope dies.

“Mm.” Tony’s hum is noncommittal in every sense. He can’t bring himself to look at her, ashamed of his reaction, wanting to give her what she wants. He’d give anything to be a father, if things were different. If his own father had been different. Hands in his pockets, Tony shuffles over to his desk, mindlessly picking up stray bits of wiring, stacks of paperwork, and rejected panels from the suit, and then putting them back down in the same place they had been.

Pepper doesn’t know how much more of this she can take. Coming here had been a mistake, telling him had been a mistake. She had wanted him to know that there might be another reason for living, that there was another reason he had fought his way out of that cave — even if he hadn’t known it at the time.

“Well,” she swallows, “I guess I’ll—.”

“I’ll talk to my lawyer tomorrow,” Tony interrupts her, there’s a loud clang as he puts something down forcefully, Pepper can’t see what it was but she can see the tension thrumming through him.

“Your lawyer?” Pepper is incredulous, mind racing, is he going to try to sue her for getting pregnant?

“Yes,” Tony replies, resting back against the edge of the desk, facing her again. He cocks an eyebrow at her, brown eyes serious. “I’ll need to change my will, first of all, to include the kid. And I want to get something down on paper about child support. You know I won’t run out on you, but I think it’s best that there’s something filed, in case anything ever happens to me.”

His eyes dart over to the suit, focusing on the bullet holes. Pepper’s eyes instead are drawn towards those dark ovals marking his skin, the spreading bruise on his left forearm.

“So you don’t…” Pepper takes a deep breath and plunges on, “you don’t want to be involved?”

“Pepper, when I was a kid, my father beat me!” The hoarse shout is sudden, Tony has gone pale, his eyes shadowed. In the harsh light of the workshop, she can see the livid purple bags under them and she wonders how long it has been since he slept. “You really want a man like me as a father? What if I — what if I—?”

“You would never,” Pepper says emphatically. “I know you, Tony, you would **never**.”

Over the years, Tony’s anecdotes about Howard Stark had destroyed the glittering legacy Pepper had grown up being taught in school. Stories of raised fists, spilled whiskey, furious roars. Pepper knows that Tony has not told her everything, and the way the words wrench out of him now awakens the ache she feels whenever he mentions his father.

“Pepper, I don’t know who I am anymore. I don’t.” Tony shakes his head slowly, hand covering his eyes for a moment. Pepper can see the slight tremor in each finger. “I just know that if I was a kid, and Tony Stark was my dad, I would be ashamed of him. Everything about me in the press, all the terrible shit I’ve done — I…”

He looks down at his feet, his nausea threatens to transform into a much more visceral (and messier) reaction, he can feel the tight coil of his stomach, the clammy sweat coating his skin.

“But, Tony, you’re… You’re trying to change all that. You’re trying to do better, to be…” Pepper takes a few steps towards him, stopping suddenly when he holds a hand out towards her. She watches as his Adam’s apple bobs rapidly in his throat, a telling indication she’s seen before, usually as she watched him vomit a night’s worth of alcohol into the toilet.

“No.” Tony’s voice is strained. “No, Pepper. I can’t. I can’t — I wish that I could, because you’ll be an amazing mother, and I…”

Tony closes his eyes, thinking of his own mother. Would he be destined to repeat his own family history, to have the love of a woman he didn’t deserve, and to have a child that despised him?

“This way is best for the kid, I know it is.” His jaw tightens and he nods with a sense of finality. “So, if you’re really going to quit, which I would understand now, if you did… I just need you to do that one last thing for me. Get me those shipping manifests, I’ll get my lawyer in touch with you, and you’ll never have to hear from me again.”

“That’s not what I want, Tony,” Pepper shifts her purse on her shoulder, slipping the lock chip inside of it.

“I can’t give you what you want,” he says simply.

Pepper nods, turning away from him. Tony now studies her back, the elegant curve of her neck, the shifting of the muscles of her legs as she walks to the shattered entryway.

He can imagine a small hand held in hers, a mop of brown curls, a delighted laugh. There’s sunshine and leafy trees, an ice cream cart parked to the side of the path. He could take the child’s other hand. Together, they could walk through the park, swinging their baby forward between them every few steps, high-pitched shrieks of glee ringing in their ears.

Just as easily he can imagine a small knock at the door to his workshop, pleading brown eyes, a face adorned with a smattering of freckles, whiskey burning in his throat, an unkind word snarled at his child.

_No. This way is better._

“Thank you, Ms. Potts,” Tony says as she steps past the glass, she turns her head over her shoulder, copper hair cascading, green eyes piercing as she looks back at him.

She does not smile. Nor does she reply.

* * *

Pepper wakes to her cellphone ringing on the nightstand, sunlight streaming into her bedroom, rays dancing over Monet’s water lilies. More than once she has stared over at that painting, longing to be floating among the plants — a much more inviting prospect than dealing with a hungover Tony Stark or a scheming Obadiah Stane.

_Tony._ Her eyes close, recalling the way his voice had broken on the shout — _my father beat me!_

Her cellphone silences for a moment and then rings again. With a sigh, Pepper reaches out for it, thumb accepting the call before she has the phone up against her ear.

“Pepper?” Rhodey asks cautiously, keeping his voice down, like he’s visiting someone in the hospital, or talking to someone first thing in the morning.

She looks over at her alarm clock, eyes widening in dismay. _10 am. Shit._ She hasn’t overslept on a weekday in years.

“Hi, Jim, sorry, I just woke up.”

“Is everything okay?” Rhodey shifts in his chair. There’s a telling creak, but no chatter in the background. He must be at home.

“Yes,” Pepper lies, and then she remembers the text she had sent him before going to bed, probably close to 2 in the morning. _Call me in the morning. Urgent._ “Oh — well…” She gives a wavering smile, eyes watering. “No. No, it’s not.”

“What’s going on? Are you okay?” Rhodey shifts into high-alert, she can imagine his fingers hovering over a big red button, ready to activate an alarm that sends a battalion of fighter pilots to her front door.

“I’m pregnant.” Pepper hates the way her voice trembles, tears trickling down her cheeks. She shouldn’t be crying. In truth, she had always known that Tony would want nothing to do with having a baby. He has a reputation for being scrupulous about using condoms. In all the years she has known him, he has never once had to deal with a pregnancy scare despite his very active sex life.

“Pepper, that’s great!” She can hear his smile through the phone, and his enthusiasm makes her start to smile through her tears. “… Is it great?” Rhodey asks anxiously after a pause.

“Yeah,” Pepper sniffles, reaching for the box of tissues on her nightstand. “It’s just that... I’ve been keeping it to myself, but last night I told…”

“You told the dad? Who is he? Wait — wait — do I know him? I bet I can guess if I do.”

Pepper blows her nose, unable to stop herself from rolling her eyes. Still, Rhodey sounds ecstatic, so she’ll let him have this. Plus, she’s interested to know who Rhodey thinks she’s been seeing on the sly, she knows he’ll never guess in a million years.

“Yes, you know him.”

“Okay.” Rhodey exhales, she can imagine him steepling his fingers together, phone sandwiched to his ear with his shoulder. “Alright, my first guess is… Hmm… Ben from Legal.”

Not a bad guess, all things considered. Ben is her go-to whenever Legal needs to be consulted, they usually are in contact at least once a week. He’s a sharp dresser, and his brown hair has an envious gleam, not to mention his gorgeous blue eyes that are framed by wire-rimmed glasses. Nerdy and kind, soft-spoken and smart.

“Nope.”

Rhodey huffs.

“Okay, how about… Fuck, this is harder than I thought, because you’ve never introduced me to a boyfriend ever, so I have absolutely nothing to go on except what I think your type is.”

Pepper decides to put Rhodey out of his misery.

“It’s Tony.”

There is absolute silence, she can’t even hear Rhodey breathing.

“ **What?** ”

“The father is Tony.”

“Hoooooly fuck.” Rhodey clears his throat, shifting in his chair again. “Aw, Pep. Christ. When…?”

Pepper wipes at her eyes with the tissue, at least her tears have stopped. “The night before you both left for Afghanistan. It was the night before my birthday.”

“Wait. Is that why he was so late getting to the plane? Oh my God, and he couldn’t stop fucking smiling, the whole goddamn way. I thought he’d gotten high. Jesus." Rhodey pauses and then asks her tentatively, "so, how did he take it?”

“Not great, as you can probably imagine.” Pepper sits up, pushing her pillows behind her to lean against, her hand resting against her stomach. There’s a shifting against her palm and she smiles — _good morning to you, too_.

“Damn. Do you want me to come over? We could go and get brunch, or something.”

“No,” Pepper sighs. “Thanks for the offer, though. I actually have to go to the office today, Tony has me on an errand.”

“Don’t tell me that he gave you a job to do after you told him…”

“Yeah, he did.”

Rhodey groans, “Christ.”

“I don’t mind, really.” Pepper recalls the startling intensity in Tony’s eyes — _I just finally know what I have to do._ “Anyways, how about this weekend?”

“Yeah, that sounds great, I’m free. Hey, how about I stop by Tony’s place today?”

Pepper sucks air between her teeth, shaking her head, hair getting in her eyes. “I don’t know about that…”

“No, I think I will. Believe me, no matter what he said to you last night, he’s probably bursting to tell someone. Tony always wanted kids, just… in a sort of distanced way. Like being the fun uncle.”

“He’s taken a very distanced approach to this one, that’s for damn sure,” Pepper says dryly.

“I’ll see what he says today,” Rhodey says decisively. “Hey, Pepper?”

“Yeah, Jim?”

“You know I’ll be there for you no matter what, right?”

Pepper smiles. Yes, working for Tony Stark has probably been the most stressful job she has ever had in her life, it has been chock-full of duties and responsibilities not even vaguely referenced in her contract — but it has also led her to some of the best people she’s ever known.

“Thanks, Jim. Talk to you later?”

“You bet. I’ll let you know how it goes with Tony. Think about what you want to do this weekend.”

“I will. Have a good day, Jim.”

“You too, Pep.”

Pepper pulls the phone away from her ear with a sigh, brushing hair out of her eyes. She might as well go into the office and get Tony those shipping manifests, and then she can wash her hands of this whole ordeal — the battle-torn metal suit, the dark bruises on Tony’s skin, the self-loathing in his eyes. All of it.

As she gets dressed for the day, her phone chirps with a calendar notification. She glances at it before getting in the car, frowning in confusion. _Meeting with Phil Coulson, Seriously Huge Waste of Time Division 3 pm._ She had most certainly not put this in her calendar. Scrolling down, her frown deepens — _Originator: Tony Stark._ The name is familiar, though. Pepper unlocks her car and searches her memory for a face to go with the name. There it is, slightly balding, brown hair, polite smile, tailored suit — at the press conference Tony had held on his return, an agent with the Strategic Homeland… Something or other, wanting to talk with Tony about what had happened in Afghanistan. She checks her purse one last time before backing out of the driveway, the silver lock chip glinting next to her wallet, and chucks her phone inside. Much like most of her days at Stark Industries, today is shaping up to be a stressful day.

* * *

Tony’s to-do list is once again modified after Pepper’s impromptu visit. He spends the night working on the suit instead of grabbing a shower or calling Rhodey, he doesn’t even squeeze a nap in. He has to keep working, because the minute his hands still, he starts to think of Pepper and the baby. With his mind left to idle, he finds himself plunged into different scenarios — well child check-up appointments, birthday parties, school projects, scraped knees, bear hugs. If he allows himself to think of these things, he yearns for them. But it’s not possible, a life with Pepper and a child with her, these things aren’t attainable. Not while there are still weapons out in the world with his name on them. The name he would give to his child. Not possible.

He comes up for air in the late afternoon the following day, his feet dragging as he climbs the stairs, grasping the slim metal railing tightly. He hasn’t bothered to look at his bruises today, but he can tell by the way his body aches that he’s seen better days. _How long can I keep doing this?_ A pointless question to ponder, he will do this as long as he has to, as long as he can. Until he dies — because he has a responsibility now. The thought of creating the suit and letting it collect dust in his workshop is incomprehensible.

Still, when he catches sight of the ocean beyond the expansive windows of his living room, he admires the view, breathing in as deep as he can. _Water._ Of course, he’ll never swim again, unless he could somehow manage to never get his face wet — but it’s a visual reminder that he is no longer staggering through the desert, throat parched, with sunburn so deep that the faintest brush of the fabric of his shirt against his skin had caused him to stumble and nearly black out. _I’m home._

Glancing at the dusky blue sky, the sun sinking below the horizon, Tony frowns.

“Hey, J, anything from Pepper?”

Perhaps he shouldn’t expect to hear from her again, with the way they had left things. In fact, he had promised her that she would never hear from him again. For all he knows, she’s downloaded the files on the lock chip and shoved it into his mailbox. Tony sinks down onto the couch, knees cracking audibly, and muffles a groan.

“No, sir, nothing.”

“Huh.” He closes his eyes, tipping his head back against the couch. He had only intended to rest his eyes for a few seconds, but his eyelids are so heavy that he doesn’t think he’ll be able to lift them ever again.

The house phone rings.

Tony stretches out his arm blindly, hand patting over the couch cushions until his fingers wrap around the plastic casing of the phone. Squinting at the screen, he sees Pepper’s picture and sits upright, exhaustion chased away by a jolt of adrenaline.

He brings the phone up to his ear, and while Pepper says his name, there’s a high pitched noise that burrows its way into his brain. It is everywhere, drilling into the roots of his teeth, exploding at his temples, pulsing behind his eyeballs.

“Tony? Are you there…?” Pepper’s voice is so distant and so faint — Tony can feel the splash of hot water against his face as he struggles in the grip of strangers, Pepper screams just before his head is dunked under, lungs filling with water, he’s choking for air.

And then a large hand floats out of his peripheral vision, gently prying the phone out of his paralyzed fingers. The fingers of the hand are tobacco-stained – Tony would know them anywhere — they’ve gripped his shoulders, trailed over the front of his chest, circled around the lip of the reactor, combed through his hair, struck him across the face.

“Shh,” Obadiah Stane coos in his ear, tossing the phone aside once he’s ended the call. His fingers sink into Tony’s hair, forcefully turning Tony’s head to the left so that he can see the device held in his other hand.

_Oh fuck. Oh fuck._ Another thing for Tony to be ashamed of. At least the government had backed out of their contract once they had inspected the prototype Tony had drafted up for them. It met their specifications exactly, a device capable of causing short-term paralysis. Of course, it wasn’t perfect. No, one of the side effects was... Tony’s whimper is faint, a warm trickle of blood emerges from both of his ears.

His fingers fold against his palms, fingernails digging into his skin — at least, he imagines they do. Brown eyes glance down at his traitorous hands, palms resting loosely against the couch, not even a twitch of his pinky finger. Obadiah grabs him by the jaw, forcing Tony to look into his eyes as the other man removes the earplugs from his ears.

“You know, Tony…” The pad of Obie’s thumb brushes against his bottom lip, trailing over the short hairs of his goatee, Tony can hear the very faint abrasive scratching sound. He tries to flinch away from Obadiah’s touch, but all he can really do is widen his eyes. _Has he been drinking? Is this some sort of a prank? Getting me back after Gulmira?_

“When I ordered the hit on you, I was worried that I was killing the golden goose.” Obadiah props one leg up on the couch, hefting a metallic tool in his hands, retractable claws jutting out.

_Not a prank. Christ — he’s going to take my reactor._

Sweat beads on Tony’s skin, his shirt clings to him, and Tony’s heart is beating so fast that he’s certain it will burst. Once the reactor is gone, his heart will beat itself to death, efficiently pumping shrapnel-laced blood through every artery until he’s nothing but an amalgamation of tiny internal lacerations.

Obadiah’s thigh presses against Tony’s side as he leans over him, the claws sinking into the space between the reactor and the metal socket in Tony’s chest with barely more than a _snick_. The device starts to whir, cutting through the fabric of Tony’s shirt, the claws sinking deeper into him. There’s a more solid-sounding _clunk_ , Tony feels the urge to arch forward as the reactor is pulled from his chest, wanting to maintain the connection — but he can feel the cable disconnect from the baseplate, his heart skips a beat.

Obadiah is talking. He's preening, actually, the blade sinking deeper into Tony’s back as he settles down beside Tony on the couch, holding the reactor in front of his eyes. Tony is Tantalus, his salvation is just out of reach. Obadiah’s arm is slung around his shoulders, fingers digging in one last time as his voice murmurs in Tony’s bloodied ear.

_I’m going to die before my kid is even born. And I didn’t even change my will. Oh, Christ, Pepper, I’m sorry._

“I wish you could see my prototype,” Obadiah says with a smirk, a briefcase appearing out of thin air, the reactor nestled amidst dark foam. “It’s not as, ah…” Obadiah cocks an eyebrow at him, blue eyes glinting, “… conservative as yours, I’ll grant you.”

Images flash in Tony’s mind — towering, twisted suits flying clunkily over a nameless small town, but making up for their ugliness with destruction as they lay waste to the buildings and people below.

“You know,” Obadiah pauses, closing the lid of the briefcase. “It really is a shame that you had to involve Pepper in this. I would’ve preferred that she lived. Especially since she’s pregnant.” He glances over at Tony, his lips curling upwards, revealing teeth that were once as yellow and sharp as a shark’s. “Didn’t she tell you?”

Something in Tony’s face gives him away, perhaps it’s the way his eyes bulge at Stane’s words, or perhaps Obie notices the rapid jump of his pulse below his jaw.

Obadiah’s eyebrows raise, forehead crinkling, mouth opening in disbelief. Then, he throws his head back and laughs, a booming sound that had echoed through the halls of Stark Manor when he had spirited Tony away on adventures as a child.

“Oh, Tony, you **didn’t**!” Obadiah manages between breathless laughs, tears of mirth trickle down his cheeks, darkening the hair of his beard. “You’re terrible!”

Wiping away his tears, still chuckling, Obadiah gets to his feet. He looms over Tony, blunt fingers trailing down Tony’s slack cheek.

“I’ll be doing the world a favor, won’t I? Getting rid of the Starks once and for all. Your father took care of himself, you were a little more troublesome, but Pepper will be a piece of cake.”

_You underestimate her._

“Ah, Tony,” Obadiah straightens up, turning to go. “You really are the gift that keeps on giving, aren’t you?

Obadiah slinks into the darkness, but for several moments, Tony’s mind insists that he’s still lurking in the shadows, waiting for Tony to regain some movement before he slits his throat.

_Fifteen-minute paralysis._ Some shrapnel has already been pumped through his heart — he can’t feel it, but there’s no way that it hasn’t in the five minutes Obadiah had spoken to him.

_Pepper. I have to get to Pepper._

Tony wills himself to stand, an agonized groan pressing past his gritted teeth, escaping beyond barely parted lips. His left index finger twitches against the couch. Blood drips softly from the lobe of his ear, staining the white of his shirt a brilliant red.

_Come on. Move, you fucking piece of shit. Move. You got her into this mess. He’s going to kill her — and the kid. **Move.**_

After several minutes of furious straining, Tony feels his torso shift forward a fraction before he falls back into his original slouch against the couch. His fingers curl against the cushion, grasping onto it as he pulls himself forward again. It takes four swings before he topples off of the couch and onto the floor. There’s a sickening crunch, a rush of blood flows from his nose. _I’ve broken it again. There goes People’s Sexiest Man Alive for this year._ Blood stains his lips, hot and metallic on his tongue, making Tony gag.

He throws his right arm forward, fingers scrabbling against the floor. His legs won’t move, not even a kick. A scream of frustration leaves him as a harsh whisper, sweaty hands slipping against the recently waxed floor. His left foot kicks against the ground, damp sock squeaking against the floor — but it’s enough, he moves forward a fraction of an inch.

Approximately three minutes pass. Tony is drenched in sweat as the top of his head hits the closed elevator doors. His hands brace against the floor, arms shuddering as he pushes himself upwards. His left hand slaps against the wall, fingers blindly searching for the panel of buttons — _all I need is the bottom button. Down. To the workshop._ His right elbow bows outwards, Tony’s forehead strikes the floor as he collapses, his vision swimming.

_Pepper and the kid. Get up, you asshole. Get **up**._

Tony screams again, but this time, it’s raw and ragged. He pulls himself up onto his hands and knees and then grabs at the wall for purchase so that he can balance on just his knees. The elevator panel is in front of his swollen nose, he presses the ‘down’ button with a trembling finger.

Relaxing elevator music plays overhead, Tony slumped against the back wall, the metal cool against his overheated skin. _Gotta change the music. My to-do list is getting long._ As he lies there, he closes his eyes and takes stock of his body. Yes, there are the aches and pains he had documented leaving the workshop, and his heart is thudding so hard in his chest that he’s a little worried the muscle will start to tear — but he doesn’t feel any sharp, visceral pain, or any other indication that shrapnel is worming its way into his stomach lining or filtering through his kidneys.

The elevator doors slide open soundlessly. Tony tries to get to his feet, but settles for flinging himself onto his stomach. Cocking his elbows, he manages an army-crawl that would bring shame to Rhodey and everyone he knew in the service.

There it is, his old reactor glittering on a workbench, twenty feet away from him at most. He had unwrapped the mysterious cube two days ago, or was it a week ago? Two weeks? After a few blows to the head, his memory is hazy. Within a glass case sat his old reactor, complete with the old electromagnet and wiring. The metal rim of the reactor had been engraved, Tony had stared at it with an expression of disbelief — _proof that Tony Stark has a heart._ The only person he knew who would ever think to do something so thoughtful and kind of weird was Pepper, though he hadn’t asked her about it. They had had other things to discuss.

But now, Pepper Potts might just save his life. He stretches up, fingers splayed, shoulder aching with tension. His fingertips brush over the glass case, almost manage to catch the edge of it, but his arm falls heavily to the ground.

There’s a twinge of pain, barely more than a sharp flare that fades almost as soon as he feels it — his upper right abdomen. Tony rests his head back against the table leg, closing his eyes. _This can’t be how it ends. I have to try again. It’s right there._ He’s paralyzed again, he must be, because he can’t lift his arms. In fact, he can’t move much of anything. His heart, once racing, starts to slow.

“Pepper,” Tony breathes.

Above him, DUM-E chirps, the reactor held within its claws. It tilts to the side inquisitively, giving another chirrup, perhaps wondering why Tony has decided to sprawl out on the floor instead of grabbing the object he so obviously desired.

“Good boy,” Tony says hoarsely, clumsily grabbing the reactor once DUM-E has brought down to where his hand rests on the ground. Glass slices into his palm, but Tony doesn’t feel the pain at all. Blood spurts over his chest as he unravels the wiring, fingers grasping at the electromagnet. He’d left everything inside when he changed out the reactor — this shouldn’t be challenging. It wouldn’t be, in normal circumstances, but right now he happens to be dying.

“This is not sanitary,” he mutters to himself, shoving his bloody hand halfway down the socket, the width of his palm too great to allow further entry, no matter how he contorts his fingers. The electromagnet slides down, Tony letting its attached wire slip slowly between his fingers. He closes his eyes, trying to recall the blurry schematics he and Yinsen had drawn up with charcoal and scrap paper. The edge of the electromagnet catches on something and Tony’s hand freezes — _I’ve got it._ Holding his breath, he lets the electromagnet fall, a muffled _clink_ as it slots into place.

Pulling his hand free of his chest, he grabs the cord at the end of the reactor, shoving it through the socket. Face twisted in determination, Tony forces his hand deeper, crying out at the sharp crack that issues from his palm — but the broken metacarpals allow his hand to push deeper, his fingers guiding the connector into the baseplate. The reactor comes to life with a quiet hum, soft blue light playing over his abdomen. With tears trickling down his cheeks, Tony pulls his injured hand out of his chest, using his other to press the arc reactor into his chest.

Cradling his hand to him, Tony rolls onto his side, legs splaying. _Just for a second. Just gotta get my breath back._ He tries to inhale deeply, but his nose is too swollen. His bloodied lips part, breath wheezing out of him. _Just for a second._

“Tony?!” Rhodey emerges from the elevator, eyes fixed on the smeared blood trail, following it to where Tony is motionless on the floor. “Tony!”

He grabs Tony’s shoulder, rolling the other man onto his back. Tony coughs, brown eyes opening wide, speckles of blood staining Rhodey’s skin. Both hands grab at Rhodey, his swollen right hand issuing another sharp burst of pain that he ignores.

“Where’s Pepper?” Tony asks frantically. “Where is she? Is she safe?”

“She’s fine,” Rhodey says quickly, trying to hold Tony upright as he documents every visible injury — broken nose, broken hand, bloodied ears. “She’s fine, I promise. She’s with five federal agents, they’re about to arrest Obadiah.”

Tony pants, his chest heaving, fingers curling against Rhodey’s shoulder.

“That is not going to be enough.” His hand grabs at Rhodey’s, lacing their fingers. “Help me.”

Rhodey pulls him to his feet, staggering backwards as Tony stumbles into him. He hooks his arms under Tony’s armpits before the other man can slide back onto the ground.

“Tony, you need... I don’t know what you need. The hospital?”

“No,” Tony snarls, fingers slipping against Rhodey’s leather jacket, barely holding himself upright. “No, I need to get to Pepper, right now. Help me get to the platform.”

Rhodey nods, wrapping an arm around Tony’s waist. Together, the two men shuffle across the workshop, abandoned tools flying across the floor when Tony’s feet catch them.

“J.A.R.V.I.S.,” Tony calls hoarsely.

“Of course, sir.”

Panels of the platform open up, gantries rise to the ceiling. Robotic claws buzz loudly, parts of the suit held aloft.

“What’s going on, Tony?”

“No time for the undersuit,” Tony says to himself, letting go of Rhodey so that he can throw himself up onto the platform. He grabs at a gantry for support, his arm wrapped tightly around the metal column.

“Christ, look at that,” Rhodey breathes as he watches the robotic arms swing in front of Tony’s left leg, pulling away after thirty seconds of whirring drills, Tony’s leg now encased in red and gold.

“Obadiah has my reactor and he has a suit.” Tony winces as the gauntlet wraps around his right hand, fingers forcibly separated into their metal counterparts. _Next suit… gotta have a pain management system. Sub-q injections? Something._

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m going to get it back.” Tony grunts as the chest piece swings against him, the back panel pressing against him and stopping him from falling backwards.

Rhodey nods again, hands shoved in his pockets. He watches as Tony is suited up, unable to stop himself from the occasional amazed exclamation.

Tony lifts one arm, a blast of energy flaring from his palm, his ruined Shelby Cobra crunching into the far wall with the impact.

“Hey,” Rhodey says as Tony turns to face him. “You need me to do anything else?”

“Keep the skies clear for me.”

“Sure thing.”

Rhodey’s eyes widen with a sudden recollection. “Wait, so… can I call you daddy now?”

Tony looks at him as the helmet’s faceplate swings down, one eyebrow raised. How the hell did Rhodey know? With a _clunk_ , Tony’s smile, both bemused and horrified, disappears behind a mask of gold.

“Rhodey,” Tony’s voice is slightly robotic from the suit’s modulator. “Don’t **ever** say that to me again.” 


	7. Chapter 7

For a man who had been unconscious in the recovery wing of the hospital less than two hours ago, Tony is remarkably alert when Pepper walks into his private room. He glances up from his cellphone when he senses movement by the doorway, expecting it to be another nurse in to check his vitals and inspect his sutures. He gently sets his phone down on the table with his left hand, his right encased in a bulky cast.

“Pepper,” Tony smiles when he looks at her, his expression one of infinite relief.

Pepper, on the other hand, looks miserable. Just looking at Tony on the bed hurts her, as if some of his pain has saturated the air, sinking into her with each breath she takes. In the fluorescent hospital light, he’s pale, almost washed out. His nose is a crooked, swollen mess. The blood from the break has blackened his eyes, but he smiles brightly at her all the same. Wires emerge from the neck of his hospital gown, she follows them to a metal tabletop at the side of his bed, a car battery humming away. Pepper swallows, trying to force back the rising nausea.

“Are you okay?” Tony shifts on the bed, leaning towards her. Pepper is starting to look a little green around the gills, he glances over at the plastic bucket, just out of reach. “Look, if you’re gonna heave, this bucket is pretty good.”

“No,” Pepper says faintly, sinking into an uncomfortable looking chair over by the window. “No, I’m fine, Tony…” She closes her eyes, leaning her head against the back of her chair. Tony’s eyes follow her hands as they rest against her abdomen.

There are bandages along her forearms, blood seeps through one at the edge of her left elbow. 

“They checked you out? Here, I mean.”

“Yes, Phil insisted, though really all I was worried about was you. Nothing major, just a few cuts. I didn’t even need stitches.”

“Phil?” _Who the fuck is Phil?_ Jealousy roars to life deep in his chest, totally irrational, but impossible to ignore.

Pepper smiles ruefully, “Phil Coulson. _Someone_ put a meeting in my calendar without running it by me first. I can’t say I’m too angry, considering how the night went.”

 _Oh, right, the fed._ Tony hums in reply, nudging a wire away from where it keeps bumping against his jaw.

“Did they give you the full report?”

Pepper nods slowly, her fingers lacing together in front of her. “Did they tell you?”

“Nope,” Tony replies with a grin, “I’ve got no idea what’s going on here,” he gestures to his reclined body with a sweep of his hand.

“It’s quite the list, actually…” Pepper brings her purse in front of her, digging around in it. “Hang on a second, I took some notes…”

“Oh, I don’t need details. Am I going to live?”

Pepper looks up at him suddenly, green eyes wide with dismay. “Of course. Did no one — why do you think — do I need to call a doctor? They can increase your morphine drip...”

Tony pats the air, trying to stop her before she really picks up steam, his broken hand twinging.

“No, Pep, I don’t feel like I’m dying or anything… But... Well, you remember that paralysis device we came up with, what, in ’06?”

Pepper bites at her bottom lip, glancing away from him. “With the rescinded contract?”

“Yeah, that one. Anyways… he used it on… Well, on me, to take the reactor. I was without it for probably fifteen minutes. Yinsen and I talked about it, it wouldn’t take long for the shrapnel to enter my heart, and from there…” Tony flutters his fingers. “So… I guess I sort of expect pretty massive damage.”

After a little more rustling, Pepper pulls out a crumpled piece of paper, Tony can make out her neat handwriting from here.

“Do you remember what happened after I blew the reactor?”

Tony pauses, recalling the blast that had thrown him ten feet across the roof, the blast that had sent Obadiah falling to his death. He had lain there, heart racing, nose throbbing, and had thought of Pepper. Not only that, but he had thought of the baby — their baby. Tony had struggled to grab hold of thin threads of consciousness, not wanting to sink into darkness, not when he could see a smile light up Pepper’s face as she rocked their child in her arms. But he had, eventually, allowed the dark lines lacing his vision to thicken.

Wordlessly, he shakes his head.

“You were unconscious when we found you. The reactor sort of… was flickering? It stopped working completely when we got to the ER, but I had already called Happy, he was there with a car battery… I didn’t know what else to do.”

“Quick thinking, Potts,” Tony says as he toys with the cables again.

She flushes at the praise, looking away from him again, he watches as her fingers press down harder against the backs of her hands, blanching her skin.

“They took you back to the operating room once they finished scans, it was all happening so fast, I just signed the papers. When did you grant me power of attorney, by the way?”

Tony grins, his cheeks aching. “Funny you should ask that. Two years ago, I think? I swapped out O—.” He can’t even say the other man’s name, his stomach heaves. Tony’s fingers scrabble against the lip of the plastic bucket, the sutures in his abdomen straining painfully as he stretches, but he manages to pull it towards him just in time. He bends his head, retching, bile burning his tongue.

Pepper is at his side, leaning over the bed so that she can run her fingers soothingly over the nape of his neck, her voice a soft murmur.

“It’s alright, Tony. You’re okay.”

He gags, recalling the way that Obadiah’s thigh had pressed against his side as Obadiah had practically straddled him on the couch, slowly pulling the reactor from his chest. Obadiah’s hand, reaching out for Tony’s as he falls, his scream drowned out by the blast. Tony’s shoulders shake, tears blurring his vision, retching again — but this time, nothing comes up.

“Oh, Tony.” The bed shifts beneath him, Pepper carefully climbs up onto it, her fingertips gentle against the bruised skin surrounding his eyes, brushing away his tears. “It wasn’t your fault.”

“It was.” Tony’s hoarse voice cracks, tears falling faster. “I don’t know what I did, to make him hate me, but — he was family, and I let him… I killed him, Pepper.”

Carefully, Pepper moves the bucket away. Then, she slides an arm under Tony’s back, helping him move so that he can rest against her, his face pressing against her shoulder, tears dripping onto her collarbone.

Her fingers gently stroke through his hair, dark strands slipping between her fingers. Pepper’s lips press against the top of his head, Tony’s eyes drift shut, tears slowing.

“You didn’t kill him, Tony, and you didn’t do anything to make him hate you. Obadiah was evil.” Pepper rarely speaks so boldly, rarely views things so black-and-white, but what she had seen in those files has her speaking decisively. “He betrayed you. He tried to have you killed. The suit he made — he wasn’t making it for the same reason you made yours. There was no way for you to save him, Tony, he was too far gone.”

Tony is silent, his eyes focused on where his hand rests against her swollen abdomen. Suddenly, there’s a pulse against his palm, a jolting under Pepper’s skin. Tony’s breath hitches.

“Was that…?”

Pepper’s fingers still in his hair, her eyes flicking down to Tony’s hand. “A kick? I think so. That’s actually…” Pepper smiles, her hand moving to rest beside Tony’s. “That’s the first time I’ve felt that.”

Tony sniffs, his hand twitching against her. He wants to rub his face, to wipe away his tears — but he also doesn’t want to pull his hand away, in case he feels it again. _That’s my kid in there._

“I’m sorry —,“ Tony clears his aching throat, trying again. “I’m sorry for how we left things, Pep. I’m sorry for putting you in harm’s way, and for putting…” His index finger taps against her abdomen.

“I’m sorry too,” Pepper murmurs. “But Tony, I told you that I would help you with anything. Tonight was no different.”

He lifts his head away from her shoulder, his brown eyes bloodshot, a stray tear glistening on the arch of his cheekbone. She rubs it away without thinking, fingers twitching against his skin as Tony rests his cheek against her palm, his eyes closing.

She could kiss him, longs to kiss him — but she doesn’t. Instead, she guides his head back down against her chest, feeling the warmth of his breath as he exhales softly. Her fingers card through his hair again, keeping her movements steady and soothing, her eyes fixed on the heart monitor as his heartrate starts to slow.

“So… The scans picked up a few pieces of shrapnel, I think the final number was three. They were all lodged in your liver. Well, that makes them sound like they weren’t up to anything. You were bleeding internally from all the small cuts they had left behind. So, they had to open you up and remove those pieces, sew up the cuts — I think they brought in an orthopaedic surgeon at the same time, for your hand. You’ve got a few screws in your palm now.” Pepper closes her eyes, recalling the little vial filled with three small pieces of twisted metal that the lead surgeon had held up in front of her, green scrubs covered in splashes of Tony’s blood, staining the fabric black.

“Thank God your heart is okay,” she murmurs, feeling him shift against her.

“It’s unpredictable, I guess. Yinsen said they were — people with this… condition that he saw in his village — they were called the walking dead. The shrapnel could just tear through something vital without any warning.”

Tony sighs, his hand still resting against her abdomen, fingers splayed out against the dark fabric of her blouse, but he can see tiny fragments of glass glinting in the light.

“You told Rhodey,” he says after a few minutes of silence, his eyes still closed. He can hear her heart start to beat faster against his ear, a brush of heat against his cheek — she’s blushing, he can tell.

“Yes, I did. Why, did he…? Well, I guess he must have said something,” Pepper muses, her fingers stilling in his hair. “Are you angry?”

“No, I guess not,” Tony replies. “Kinda forget that he’s your friend, too. And, y’know, you were well within your rights to tell whoever… Can’t say I blame you, either, it probably wasn’t the reception you were envisioning.”

“No, it wasn’t.”

Tony hums in response, letting the subject drop. He’s got quite a bit of pain medication flowing through him now, the last thing he wants to do is open his mouth and say something stupid. The comforting beat of Pepper’s heart starts to slow back down to its resting rate, soon Tony’s breathing is synchronized to the rise and fall of her chest.

“Was that Happy I saw in here earlier?” Pepper’s voice is distant, like she’s speaking to him at the end of a very long tunnel, but Tony manages to stay awake just enough to give her a hum of assent.

“What was he doing in here?”

Tony cracks one eye open, scanning the room blearily for Pepper before he realizes that he’s lying half on top of her. “Work stuff.”

“You called him into your room for work stuff immediately after getting out of surgery?”

 _Look, Pep, I’m not gonna tell you the truth just yet._

“Uh huh,” Tony murmurs sleepily, closing his eye again and willing himself to sleep, Pepper can always tell when he’s faking. This time she doesn’t call him out on it, perhaps she decides that he’s a little too damaged for a debate tonight. Instead, with his hand a comfortable weight against her stomach, Pepper listens as Tony’s breathing deepens and lets herself cry.

* * *

“Welcome home, sir,” J.A.R.V.I.S.’ voice is cool as the AI brings up the lights in the living room to a gentle dim. “Would you care to review your messages? You’ve received 237 since you were admitted to the hospital. A majority of those are from members of the press.”

“Delete all,” Tony replies, one hand shoved in his pocket, eyes following the trail of his blood from the couch to the elevator doors. He steps over the rust-colored smear on his way to the alcove containing the new grand piano he had ordered while in the hospital. Hefting his casted hand, he presses it experimentally to the keys, grimacing at the discordant shriek that follows.

 _Well, Mamma, I might never play again._ He hadn’t asked the doctors, for fear of the answer — but there are hopeful signs, he can bend his fingers towards his palm, nails digging into the red ( _naturally_ ) plaster of the cast with minimal pain. He stretches his fingers out as far as the cast will allow, gently pressing down against the keys. His left hand does most of the work, but he’s able to play a soft melody for a few moments, something soothing his mother had always played for him before sending him off to bed, no matter how old he was.

Tony closes his eyes, feeling as though he is 19 years old again, sprawled out on the couch with a mug of hot chocolate cradled against his chest. His mother sits at the piano, playing this song, snow falling in tiny flakes outside the window.

_“We’ll be back before you know it, Anthony.”_

_“Why do you have to go, anyways?” Tony whines, lifting the mug to his lips, tongue deftly scooping up a melted mini-marshmallow. “You hate the Bahamas house.”_

_“I do not,” Maria Stark replies, glancing quickly over at the doorway to Howard’s office, relaxing only when she is certain that it is closed. The last thing she needs is for Howard to overhear this conversation. He had been talking about this trip for weeks — a typical Howard Stark gift following the end of yet another office romance. The sex will be fantastic (Howard is a very attentive lover when he feels guilty), the conversation will be cerebral (she had fallen in love with his mind first), but if Howard were to hear Tony now, he would spend the entire trip raving about their son… And then she **would** end up hating the Bahamas house. “Don’t get me into trouble, Anthony.” _

_“He’s probably wasted, anyways, Mamma,” Tony snorts. “Good for nothing bas—.”_

_“Do not talk about your father like that,” Maria’s tone is sharp now, warning. “Come now, tesoro, we were having such a lovely time.”_

_“Maybe you were,” Tony replies, mug clattering against the coffee table, luke-warm hot chocolate slopping against the rim, some splatters stickily against the glass tabletop. He gets to his feet and stretches, lifting his arms over his head._

_“We’ll be back before Christmas,” Maria says softly, her brown eyes fixed on her son, on his unruly hair and stained t-shirt, his broadening shoulders and his slim wrists. He’s nearly a grown man now, but she still sees the little boy underneath, clutching a new Tinkertoy invention in his hands, a gap-tooth grin on his face._

_Tony stands behind her now, watching as she plays. Then he leans forward and presses a kiss to her cheek._

_“Good night, Mamma.”_

_Maria smiles despite his sticky lips, leaning back against him._

_“Good night, Anthony. Sweet dreams.”_

Tony’s fingers still against the keys, his broken hand aching, and he’s horrified when he tastes a tear on his lips. Reaching up, he brushes them roughly away, stepping away from the piano, the bench scraping against the floor when he bumps into it and sends it backwards.

“Fucking pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, kicking the nearest leg of the bench, which happens to be quite solid. Tony lets out a hiss of pain, staggering towards the elevator, his big toe throbbing painfully in his loafer.

He presses the ‘down’ button of the elevator with only the briefest recollection of his struggle to press it a week and a half ago. Tony steps inside, eyes once again drawn to the dried blood on the floor. _I’m going to have to clean that up._ Right now, though, he can’t be bothered. No, there’s only one thing on his mind. It had been on his mind as he had fought Obadiah, as he had been flung into cars on the freeway, as he had dangled from the steel girders of the roof of the reactor building. Pepper and the kid. He had been so certain, when she had told him, that he wanted nothing to do with the kid — but now he’s not so certain. Now he can’t stop thinking about how wonderful it would be to sit at the piano on Christmas Eve, his kid nestled beside him, and play his mother’s song.

“J,” Tony steps into the workshop, eyes scanning the doors built into the wall at the back. “If you were me, where would you put some of my mom’s old stuff?”

“I would probably shove it someplace that I would never think to look at again, sir. You aren’t exactly the neatest…”

“That’s what I was afraid of,” Tony says with a sigh, stepping over broken glass he still hasn’t swept up. Somehow, Rhodey had found all of the items on the list Tony had given him while in the hospital. The other man had brought Tony all of the tools he had needed to repair the reactor that had been removed from the wreckage of Obadiah’s suit without complaint, though he must’ve dug through the various disorganized piles in Tony’s workshop for hours. Idly, Tony’s fingers rub against the reactor through the soft fabric of his shirt. Having it back in his chest had been okay at first, a welcome relief after shuffling through the hospital with the car battery pushed on a wheeled tray beside him. But after a few hours, it had started to feel _wrong._ There was no other way to describe it to Pepper, always so willing to help him — but how else could he describe the feeling of the reactor except as a defilement? _I’ll build a new one. This week._

Replacing his reactor is at the top of his list, as is his ruined suit. At first he had examined the photos of the suit Pepper had taken for him with hope, but with closer examination had realized that fixing it was out of the question. Instead, Tony had started drafting up sketches of a new model, aware that he won’t be able to get much done with his hand as clunky as it is, but he can at least lay the groundwork so that he can start as soon as the cast is off.

He reaches the back wall, wrenching open one of the doors. Dusty stacks of cardboard boxes are crammed into the closet, taking up all of the available space. He scans over them, searching for his own handwriting amidst his mother’s, jagged spikes whilst hers is graceful curves. Tony leans forward on his tiptoes, bracing his arm against the doorframe, the reactor providing him with enough light to make out the labels on the topmost boxes.

“Well, fuck.” Of course the one he wants is jammed against the ceiling, wedged between two boxes, each labelled _Howard._ Tony stalks away, grabbing a stepladder from its hook on the wall. Dragging it back to the closet, he mutters curses under his breath, resolving to be a tidier person from now on.

Fifteen minutes later, the roof of his mouth still tickling after a barrage of dust-induced sneezes, Tony sits cross-legged on the floor with the box between his legs. _Childhood Garbage_ he had scrawled across the top of the box in thick permanent marker.

“Apt,” Tony says, nudging the lid off the box slowly, as if he expects hundreds of spiders to start spilling out of the gap. Nothing emerges except a waft of his childhood home — his mother’s perfume, floor cleaner, fresh bread. Tony inhales deeply as he lifts the lid away and sets it aside.

What he’s looking for is right at the top, a small blue velvet box, nestled carefully within one of his old track and field tops from his time at boarding school. He lifts the box up carefully, the pad of his thumb dragging over the soft velvet, leaving a line of brilliant blue through the dust covered material.

Within the box, an engagement ring sparkles. Tony eases it out from the foam that holds it, eyes fixed on the sapphire in the center, the band glimmering with small diamonds on either side of the gem.

He slides the ring down over his left index finger, not forcing it further when it catches against the second joint of his finger. The silver has a faint patina of tarnish, which is miraculous considering the years it has spent shoved into this closet — but still, his grandmother would be furious to know that he hadn’t taken care of it as he promised that he would. Tony is glad that there is no one there to see him as he cups his own face in his hand, the ring brushing coolly over the arch of his cheekbone, eyelashes fluttering against his bruised skin as he closes his eyes and breathes in deeply.

_Tony catches sight of her as he comes spilling out of the front door of his elementary school, managing to stay on his feet even as the older kids jostle past him with mutters of some of their more creative nicknames for him. He stumbles as an extended foot trips him up, but regains his balance as he hurries towards the gates._

_“Nonna!” Tony runs to his grandmother, throwing his arms around her. His grandmother laughs, a melodic chime that he loves, her slender fingers brush over the top of his head._

_“Anthony! Come stai?”_

_“I’m alright.” He pulls away so that he can look up at her, squinting as the sunshine spills over her silver hair, making it sparkle. “Mamma didn’t say if you were coming today.”_

_“I always pick my nipote up from school on Fridays, eh? Why should today be any different?” Her fingers ruffle through his hair, strands catching between the small diamonds of her engagement ring, a sensation so familiar to him that it doesn’t hurt. Instead, it just reaffirms to Tony that his grandmother really is here, picking him up after a terrible day at school._

_Someone had shot a spitball at him that morning, it had struck his cheek with such a disgusting sound that he had nearly been sick, warm saliva dripping down his skin and onto the desk. These little acts of unkindness make Tony’s heart ache slightly less than they had at the beginning of the year. After all, when his father had told him that he would be moved from first grade to fifth grade, Howard had told him to expect punches from the other kids. If this didn’t work, his father had sworn that he would send Tony to boarding school. In light of that threat, Tony could handle a spitball._

_Still, Tony feels relieved as his grandma carefully unhooks his backpack from his shoulders. Most of the other kids have headed off for home, and those that still linger by the school gates only shoot him the briefest of nasty looks, perhaps not wanting to start anything with Tony so obviously in the protection of the tall, well-dressed older woman holding his backpack._

_“Are you hungry, tesoro?” His grandmother extends her hand to him, Tony takes it happily, his small fingers lacing between hers._

_“Starving,” he replies, though Jarvis had packed him a pretty substantial lunch that day, with an extra half of a peanut butter and marshmallow fluff sandwich, an impressive sketch of Captain America affixed to the front of the foil wrapping._

_“Let’s get you something to eat, then,” his grandmother says, squeezing his hand in hers. Her engagement ring presses against his fingers, Tony stares at it as they walk down the street, letting his grandmother guide him to their favorite deli._

_They step through the doorway, Tony’s stomach grumbles as they pass over the threshold, but he can’t pull his gaze away from the enormous sapphire inlayed in his grandmother’s ring. He can see little reflections of himself in the facets of the gem, hiding halfway behind his grandmother’s legs as she orders a Reuben sandwich for him, his favorite._

_“You’re quiet today, Anthony,” his grandmother’s hand pulls away from his as she ushers him into their usual booth, pressing against his shoulders for a moment to steady him as he lifts himself up onto the leather chair._

_“Hmm?” Tony looks over at her, rubbing at his cheek, though he had long since washed away the spit in the bathroom, and the red welt left behind had faded into a small pink circle._

_His grandmother surveys him with piercing blue eyes, raising one thin eyebrow at him. Tony sighs, lowering his hand from his face and resting it instead on the table._

_“I don’t know. The other kids…”_

_Tony squirms as his grandmother’s gaze sharpens, rubbing his finger against the tabletop, staring intently at the smear left behind instead of meeting her eyes._

_“Have you told your father?”_

_He shrugs, keeping his head down. His grandmother huffs loudly, though she’s not in a position to talk to Howard, either — he’s made his feelings for his mother-in-law quite well known over the years, reducing her visits with her daughter and grandson to Friday afternoons only._

_“He wouldn’t care,” Tony replies, thankful as their food is set down in front of him. His sandwich towers on the plate, his grandmother has gone for a less healthy choice, a giant chocolate chip cookie. Carefully, she breaks it in half while looking at him._

_“Once you finish your food,” she tells him with a smile, setting his half aside before lifting her own to her mouth._

_“Wish I could have it first,” Tony grumbles around a mouthful of corned beef._

_“When you’re grown, bambino, you can do whatever you want.”_

_As he eats, Tony finds himself admiring her ring again, sunlight catches the gems and sends rainbows across the tabletop. His grandmother notices him looking as she pops the last bite of cookie into her mouth._

_“You’ve liked this ring since you were a baby. You almost swallowed it once.” His grandmother smiles at the recollection. “Your mother screamed at me for the rest of the day,” she waves her hand casually, “it is not as though Maria did not swallow her fair share of everyday objects as a baby, I told her as much.”_

_“Why didn’t you give it to Daddy to use with Mamma?”_

_His grandmother’s smile fades, lips curving downwards, her eyebrows furrowing. She does try to be diplomatic about Howard when she’s around Tony. Still, she had offered Howard the ring when he had approached her husband to discuss marrying Maria, and his look of disdain had been enough for her to pull her hand away. Why would he want a family heirloom when he could purchase some god-awful costume jewelry for the ‘love of his life’?_

_“Your Papà already had a ring picked out. Anyways,” she extends her hand to him, tsking when he reaches out to touch the sapphire in the center with greasy fingers. Dutifully, Tony wipes his hand on the napkin._

_“Mamma’s isn’t as nice,” he says decisively._

_His grandmother tips her head back and laughs, Tony smiling instinctively at the sound he loves so much._

_“Tell you what, tesoro. One day, you’ll give this ring to someone you love very much, hmm? Like when your grandfather gave it to me.”_

Tony pulls his hand away from his face, quickly working the ring down off of his finger, closing it in his fist, the gems pressing uncomfortably into his skin. Marriage has always been very far from his mind — after seeing the state of his parents’ marriage, it didn’t seem worth the trouble. It was true, Nonna and Nonno had a very happy marriage, as did Aunt Peggy and Uncle Daniel, and Ana and Jarvis. Their happy marriages didn’t make up for his mother’s bruises or his father’s permanent scowl whenever he was in her company, though.

But now he is going to be a father, even if he chose not to be involved in the child’s life, there is no way for him to deny it. He had sworn off children as well — if that had changed, why couldn’t his view on marriage?

“What am I supposed to do?” Tony murmurs against his fist, knocking it gently against his lips. Even if he asked Pepper, he doesn’t entirely believe that she’ll say ‘yes’. They have been teetering on the edge of something for some time now, the sex had only sent them closer to it — but he hasn’t said the words. He’s almost said them, in a round-about way, and he knows that Pepper knew what he meant. Even still, he hadn’t **said** them. And now he’s going to propose to her?

Tony snorts, tucking the ring into his pocket. His fingers wrap around his cellphone, pulling it out with a frown. There is at least one thing he absolutely can get done right now.

Scrolling through his contact list, he finds the entry for ‘LAWYER – MARTHA :)' and clicks ‘call’.

* * *

There’s dried blood on the floor in the living room. Pepper almost gets cleaning supplies out from the closet in the hallway, the only thing that stops her is the fact that she’s very pressed for time. Tony has been home for two days but she has a feeling he hasn’t come up for air from the workshop since he had arrived home. She hasn’t heard from him, regardless. Pepper had tried not to take his silence to heart, tried to remind herself that he was grieving for Obadiah, that he had nearly died (again), that she had sprung her pregnancy on him right before disaster had struck (that’s letting him off easy, if he had used his eyes, he would have noticed) — but now she’s afraid of what she’s going to find if she goes downstairs.

She avoids the elevator, not wanting to follow the blood trail, though she does resolve to come back to the house after the press conference and get everything cleaned up. It might help Tony, too, to know that everything will be as it had been before Obadiah’s betrayal. In any case, removing the blood will certainly make her stomach settle.

Pepper descends the stairs slowly, her heels clicking against the metal, the cardboard box she had picked up from the front step knocking against the rail despite her constant readjustments. At the foot of the stairs, she peers through the now empty entryway into the workshop. At least he had swept up the glass at some point.

Tony is sitting at his desk, his back to her, head resting against his hand. She listens intently for his snores — he must be asleep, the monitor of his computer is dark, and she can’t see any holographic schematics hovering beside him.

“I can feel you lurking,” Tony says to her without turning in his chair to look at her. “I really can. Gives me the willies, Pep.”

She snorts — _willies?_ — and steps through the entryway, walking over to him quickly.

“I thought you were asleep,” she admits as she reaches his side, involuntarily wincing when she catches sight of his bruised face. The bruises have faded from brilliant purple to acidic looking greens and dull yellows. “We’re supposed to be at the press conference in an hour and a half,” Pepper reminds him, reaching out to pat down his hair — a futile effort, the brown curls bounce back to their unruly state once she pulls her hand away.

“What day is it?” Tony sounds disoriented, spinning in his chair to face her properly. Out of the corner of her eye, Pepper catches sight of a stack of paperwork in front of his keyboard, just making out **LAST WILL AND** before Tony blocks her view with his body. 

“Have you been down here this whole time?” There’s no point in asking, she already knows the answer, his skin is oily and his goatee is overgrown.

“I had a couple of things to catch up on after… everything.” Despite his best intentions, his gaze travels down the front of her, eyes focusing on her breasts for half a second ( _hello…_ ) before fixing on her abdomen.

Pepper shifts the box in front of her, Tony blinks at it.

“It was on your front step. Online shopping?”

Tony raises one eyebrow but his lips remain a firm line. Whatever it is, he doesn’t want to tell her. Pepper doesn’t have the time to be curious. Instead, she holds the box out to him.

“We need to get going, Tony — and don’t take this personally, but you need a shower.”

This time Tony grins, setting the box down on his desk. He gets to his feet, she grimaces sympathetically when she hears the joints of his knees cracking. Tony combs his fingers through his hair, his casted hand lifted over his head as he stretches. Pepper inhales between her teeth when she hears his spine crack several times as he twists to the left and right.

“Sitting in a chair for that long is probably destroying your joints,” she tells him, digging in her purse for some ibuprofen, noticing the way his hand presses to the upper right of his abdomen, his jaw tightening almost imperceptibly.

Tony dry swallows the three ibuprofen she offers to him, glancing back at the box with a thoughtful expression.

“Tell you what, Pep. You go on ahead —.”

“Tony, no —.”

“ — Yeah! You go on ahead, I’ll meet you there. I promise I won’t forget. Three hours, right?”

“An hour and a half,” Pepper groans, pressing her hand over her eyes, which is a shame — Tony loves her eyes.

“Okay, okay. An hour and a half. I’ll be there. Scout’s honor. You go on ahead and chat with Phil Coulson for me, that way he won’t be so grumpy.”

“Phil isn’t grumpy,” Pepper says, lifting her index finger to look at him searchingly, trying to decide whether or not she trusts him to get himself to Stark Industries in one piece.

“He is when he talks to me.” Tony sidles up next to her, resting his hand against the small of her back as he starts to steer her towards the door. “C’mon, Pep, trust me on this.”

She stops at the door, Tony’s gentle pushes against her back do not seem to be propelling her forward. She bites at her bottom lip, Tony nearly leans in and kisses her just to stop her from indulging that nervous habit. Instead, he rubs his hand in soothing circles against the small of her back.

“You’ll shower?”

Tony grins and leans in towards her. Softly, he presses his lips against her cheek, breathing in the floral scent of her shampoo as a few auburn strands glance against his nose. Pepper’s skin burns against his lips, when he pulls away, he admires the pink flush of her cheeks, the way her green eyes have darkened slightly.

“I’ll even shave. And you’ll get to do my makeup!”

“Absolutely thrilling. My favorite activity,” Pepper says dryly, but her voice wavers slightly.

Tony’s hand drops away and he takes a few steps back.

“Go on,” he gestures to the spiral staircase beyond the door. “I promise I’ll be there. An hour and a half.”

Pepper stares at him uncertainly for a few more moments and then sighs, shaking her head.

“If you’re late, I won’t save you from Phil.”

Tony squares his shoulders and salutes her with his casted hand. “Of course, Ms. Potts. I’ll be there.”

He doesn’t drop the salute until she’s finished climbing the stairs, fingers rubbing at the mark the cast has left behind on his forehead — his salute had been a little too enthusiastic.

“J.A.R.V.I.S., set a timer for an hour, please.”

“Of course, sir. Shall I send Ms. Potts real-time notifications of your whereabouts and activities while in the house?”

Tony picks up a screwdriver from a worktable on his way to his desk, hefting it in his hand.

“You can start sending them once I’m in the shower. Pepper always loves it when we blow up her phone.”

Clumsily, Tony wraps the fingers of his right hand around the handle of the screwdriver, using his left hand to hold the cardboard box in place on the desk. When he had spoken to Happy, he had known that his request would be niche, very hard to find — but L.A. was a big place. Tony is almost disappointed that Happy had been left with no other choice but the internet to make this particular purchase.

Sawing through the packing tape with the screwdriver, Tony grins when he sees a flash of green fabric inside of the box.

“Remind me to reimburse Happy, will you?”

“Of course, sir. Shall I specify the amount?”

“Uh…” Tony parts the flaps of the box, pulling out the item he had woken up from surgery thinking about. He shakes out the wrinkles, the fabric snapping. The sound makes him smile, it reminds him of all the times his mother had gone into his closet and berated him for the wrinkled dress shirts he had shoved haphazardly inside — _honestly, Anthony, have you heard of an iron?_

“We’ll make it $100, how about that? He probably really had to search the internet for this, you know he's technologically challenged — and he didn’t even ask questions when I told him what I wanted… Where do you think I’d put wrapping paper? Do you think I even own wrapping paper?”

“You’re not one for gift-giving,” J.A.R.V.I.S. notes. “If I had to guess, sir, it would be in one of the workshop closets. I do believe you have a tarpaulin in there.”

“Not exactly what I’m looking for.” Tony glances back at the purchase dangling from his fingers, a grin spreading across his face. “Change the timer to 35 minutes, J. I have a stop to make before I go to work.”

“Shall I inform Ms. Potts of the location of your stop, sir?”

“No, no, absolutely not.” Tony tucks the fabric under his arm, hurrying over to the door. Since returning home from Afghanistan, showers have become something of a problem for him, he needs to move fast if he’s going to account for the amount of times he’ll breathlessly have to turn the water off and will himself not to faint.

“It’s a surprise,” Tony continues, unable to stop himself from smiling even though it makes his face ache. “If there’s one thing I’ve learned about Pepper Potts in the past couple of months, it’s that she _loves_ surprises.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> alright i've had to get my grubby little hands on the mcu timeline and tweak it to my liking so i've adjusted tony's birth year to 1972, making him 19 when his parents died. since this fic takes place in 2008, tony is 36. pepper is 30, i can never decide how long i want her to have worked for tony whenever i'm dealing with im1, some people say 10 years (i know i have at least once in one of my fics) but i think I AM GOING TO SETTLE ON 7 years. ALSO i've popped her birthday into may (i would say early may) to go with tony's because i can't be stopped. apologies for this stream of consciousness, for some reason i felt compelled to start messing with the already fucked-up mcu timeline and now i'm in too deep.


	8. Chapter 8

“I am going to kick your ass,” Pepper hisses into her phone. This is not an approach she’s ever taken with Tony before — but her back is aching, the baby has her bladder wrapped in what feels like a death-grip, and her ankles are so swollen that she’d been forced to change out of her heels into flats in the parking lot at Stark Industries. 

She had **told** Tony, an hour and a half, and he had promised to be there. He had looked at her with solemn brown eyes, held up his hand (she had checked his casted one subtly for crossed fingers) and said ‘Scout’s honor’. Had Tony even _been_ a Boy Scout? He’s late, twenty minutes late, by her watch. Phil Coulson looks like he’s going to blow a gasket.

“That wouldn’t be your lovely voicemail making my phone buzz, would it, Potts?” Tony’s voice is a lazy drawl as he leans up against the doorframe of the green room, a flat box held under his arm. Pepper turns to face him with a scowl. Half the time, Tony pisses her off just to see her get angry, she’s very cute when she’s angry — but he really doesn’t want her to be angry when she opens this.

“Sorry I’m late,” he says as he walks towards her, setting the box down on the polished wood surface of the conference table. Pepper glances at it, and then does a double take — it’s wrapped in royal blue metallic wrapping paper. Tony, wrap a gift? She’s almost tempted to pinch herself, because she must be dreaming, or she’s gotten her wires crossed and woken up in an alternative universe this morning.

“Is that for Phil?” Pepper asks the question just to disarm him, just to see him scowl. He’s cute when he’s annoyed.

“No, it’s for you, actually. Let’s do my makeup first, since I’m running late. Coulson gave me…” Tony digs in the deep pocket of his trousers. He always does clean up nice, it’s amazing what a shower, shave, and tailored suit can do. Pepper flicks a mote of dust off of his shoulder as he searches in his other pocket, his frown deepening, but then his face lights up in triumph as he withdraws a crumpled stack of notecards.

“Prepared remarks?” Pepper can’t say that she’s surprised, given Tony’s recent track record with press conferences.

“Yep, want to look them over?”

Pepper shakes her head, hand resting on his shoulder as she guides him over to the chair in front of the vanity set against the wall. Tony settles down into it obediently, resting the cards on his thigh. He tilts his head back against the chair, looking at her upside-down with a grin.

“You’ve got your work cut out for you.”

Pepper cups his cheeks in her hands, holding his head steady. Tony squirms, but it’s his fault for choosing such an uncomfortable angle for his head. One of her fingertips brushes gently over the bruises under his eyes, glancing against the side of his nose. She pulls her hand away instantly when she sees him wince at the sting of pain.

“You never make things easy for me,” Pepper replies as she picks up the bottle of concealer she had bought just that morning. “It’s a good thing your nose wasn’t your best feature.”

Tony gasps in mock-offense, sitting properly in the chair now that Pepper has released his head. He stays very still as she starts to gently dab makeup against his skin.

“It was a good nose, and now I've broken it twice,” he complains.

“You look more rugged now,” Pepper says comfortingly, leaning down in front of him, her green eyes narrowed as she covers over his impressive array of bruises. “It’s a little bit crooked, it’s kinda…” She quirks her lips, eyes glancing into his for a moment.

“You were gonna compliment me,” Tony grins. “Go on, say it.”

Pepper sighs, the makeup blender pressing gently under his other eye. “It’s **kind of** good-looking.”

Tony smirks at her in the mirror — she’d called him other things in bed, but he won’t push her for more as they sit in the green room, not when _Phil_ could walk in at any moment. There’s a comforting clatter as Pepper turns back to the bottles and trays of makeup on the vanity, Tony closes his eyes and lets her get to work.

After a few minutes, Pepper steps back and surveys him.

“Well?” Tony cocks an eyebrow, keeping his eyes closed.

“Turn your head?”

Tony slowly turns his head from left to right, lifting his jaw to change the angle. Pepper sighs, Tony quickly opens his eyes, expecting to see that Pepper has actually painted his face green — letting him lean into the look, at least it would match his tie. Instead, his own eyes stare back at him in the mirror, his own _normal_ face, not a hint of bruising.

“Damn, Pep. You’re good at this.”

Pepper smiles, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

“Believe it or not, Tony, I do my makeup every day. This one was a little bit of a challenge, though,” she admits.

“I appreciate your humility,” Tony deadpans, she smacks his shoulder in response.

“Stark?” Phil Coulson appears in the door, a dour expression on his face, which isn’t very different from his usual expression.

Tony glances over at the box on the conference table, reaching up to straighten his tie, his fingers tapping against the intricate knot for a moment.

“Can I have like… five minutes?”

Coulson lets out a short huff, shaking his head slowly. “You’re already forty minutes late.”

“What’s five more minutes then?” Tony stands with a smile, the notecards fluttering to the floor as he gives Coulson an enthusiastic, cheerful wave. The man’s grey eyes fix on Tony’s waving hand for a moment, jaw tightening, and then he turns stiffly and walks away.

“I want you to open that,” Tony tells Pepper, slipping his hands into his pockets, his right arm looking only slightly bulkier in the sleeve of his suit jacket compared to his left — according to the cards, an injury he sustained after unwittingly diving off of the yacht into a cluster of rocks, Pepper looking on in horror. While not in the cards, Tony imagines her with a cocktail in hand, complete with one of those little tropical umbrellas. 

“So it _is_ for me.” Pepper picks up the box carefully, as if she’s afraid it’s going to explode. The last time Tony had given her a gift, they’d had sex — and while the conference table does look like it would hold the two of them quite easily, he’d only given them five minutes before Phil would be back.

“Yup.” Tony leans back against the edge of the table, crossing his arms over his chest now, his left hand curling into a fist under his right bicep, fingernails biting into his palm. Pepper slides her finger under the taped lip of the wrapping paper, taking her time to neatly unwrap the box. Tony twitches, he’s never been very patient when it comes to unwrapping presents, but this is for her.

She sets the paper aside without so much as a tiny tear. Tony wonders if she’s got a whole drawer of recycled wrapping paper at home, there must be a reason for her stubborn neatness.

“I’m almost afraid to open this,” Pepper glances at him, her hand resting against the white lid of the flat apparel box. “I feel like your taste in lingerie is vastly different from mine.”

Tony snorts, shaking his head.

“Not lingerie, then?” She lifts the lid of the box, shifting aside the thin white tissue paper so that she can see what is inside. The lid slips out of her fingers and lands on the floor, her eyes are wide, disbelieving. Pepper’s hands tremble as she lifts the green onesie out of the box.

On its front is a toolbox filled to the brim with tools, and above it are the words **DADDY’S LITTLE HELPER**.

Tony shifts on his feet, tapping his finger against the toolbox printed on the onesie.

“Is it corny? They don’t have to wear it. I just thought…” His hand drops away from the onesie, looking at her uncertainly. “I want… to be involved. I know I told you that I didn’t, but I… You know, I had the opportunity to reflect… And I’d like to be a father.” He bites his bottom lip, shaking his head quickly.

“You probably, you know, don’t want… me — after how I reacted. Sorry, this was stupid —.”

Pepper throws her arms around his neck, pulling him into a tight hug, the onesie held tightly in her hand.

“Oh, Tony, of course I want you to do this with me!” Her lips press against his, the fingers of her free hand sinking into his hair. He sighs in relief against her lips, his arms wrapping around her waist, pulling her closer to him.

“When did you even have time to get this?” Pepper breaks the kiss suddenly, though she doesn’t pull away, he can feel her bottom lip brush against his as she asks him breathlessly, her fingers toying with his hair.

“When I woke up from the anaesthesia, I couldn’t get the damn thing out of my head,” he admits, kissing her again, grinning as she murmurs his name and melts against him. “So, I asked Happy to find it for me…”

“It’s perfect, Tony. It’s not corny at all. It’s very sweet.” This time, Pepper pulls away from him just enough that he’d have to lean forward to kiss her, which is not that great of an inconvenience. In fact, his fingers curl against the fabric of her blouse, his head tilting as he leans in towards her, stopping when her finger presses against his lips.

“Come on,” Tony complains, kissing her fingertip.

“No,” Pepper says as her finger traces over his moustache, carefully edging along the sharp corners of his goatee. “Press conference.”

“I suppose you’re right.” Tony lets go of her with a sigh, slipping his hand into his pocket. “I do have one more thing for you, though. Well, it’s sort of for you. It’s more… me alerting you that it exists.”

Suddenly, Tony is holding a ring between his thumb and forefinger, lifting it up so that she can see it. Pepper’s lips part, stunned. Another task for Happy, getting the ring cleaned — this time he’d tipped Tony a wink, putting two and two together. _Happy’ll get godfather, Rhodey’ll get best man, everyone’ll be happy._ The sapphire glints in the light, Pepper’s hand rises to press against the slight bump under the neckline of her blouse, her finger resting against the sapphire he had given her in May.

“I hadn’t planned that consciously,” he tells her, reading her mind. “This was my grandmother’s ring. I guess that necklace must have reminded me of it, must’ve been why I was drawn to it when I wanted to get you a gift — but… I’m smart, right? But not that smart. I’m not that great at being romantic, actually.” Tony realizes that he’s rambling, though the way Pepper is clutching her necklace is making him anxious, as is the fact that she’s not said anything…

“Anyways, I’m not _asking_ you, you know? I’m not… proposing, or anything. If you don’t want me to. It’s just — it’s what I want for us. Now or in the future. Hell, Pepper, I’d marry you right this second, if you wanted. So…” He tilts the ring towards her, swallowing slightly. “So, you can have it now, or I can, y’know, put it on layaway. And then you can collect it whenever…”

Pepper reaches out and takes the ring from his fingers, her eyes fixed on it. She sets the onesie on the table, her hand now free to slide the ring over her left ring finger. It’s a perfect fit — Tony had asked J.A.R.V.I.S. for her ring size, and the AI had willingly obliged, perhaps grateful to offer up some knowledge following Tony’s interrogation and the AI’s subsequent admission of being aware of Pepper’s pregnancy.

“I don’t know about getting married right this second,” she says softly, quickly taking Tony’s hand when he flinches and looks away. “I’m not rejecting you, Tony, I just put the ring on. We haven’t even gone on a date yet… but I guess we _have_ skipped a few steps.”

He shrugs and mumbles something inaudible, Pepper squeezes his hand in hers until he looks at her again, though his expression is guarded.

“I’m thinking that once you finish up with this press conference, we could maybe go home and open the envelope?”

Tony raises his eyebrows, his guarded expression giving way to a brilliant smile. The type of smile that makes Pepper’s heart beat a little faster, the type of smile that warms the brown eyes Pepper has been in love with for years.

“Really? You haven’t opened it yet?”

“I haven’t,” Pepper confirms with her own small smile, laughing as Tony lets out a whoop and pulls her into another hug. She presses her face against his neck, breathing in the scent of his cologne, and underneath that — the scent of _Tony_ : motor oil, freshly welded metal, and the faintest hint of expensive whiskey.

When he pulls away from her, she catches sight of a loose end of a butterfly bandage that she’d missed earlier, hidden away by the dark hair of his eyebrow. She quickly pulls it off; Tony catches her wrist in his hand and kisses her fingertips, making her laugh when he avoids the bandage sticking to her skin with exaggerated care. 

“Stark!”

“Duty calls,” Tony murmurs against her fingers.

“Go get ‘em, boss,” Pepper replies, tapping her fingers against his lips, feeling them curve up into a smile just before he pulls away.

Tony’s shoulders straighten as he walks to the door, she watches as he lifts his head and inhales deeply, getting ready to perform for a crowd of people expecting Tony Stark — a challenging character to embody when he’s just spent the last ten minutes as Tony, expectant father and eventual husband.

He pauses at the door, knuckles rapping against the doorframe. Tony turns and looks at her, brown eyes dark with intensity.

“I love you, Pepper.”

Pepper holds his gaze and gives him a reassuring nod, watching as the last hints of nervous tension and uncertainty fade from his posture.

“I love you too, Tony.”

Pepper stays in the green room, sinking into one of the chairs at the conference table. She folds the onesie neatly, resting her left hand against the front of it. Gently, her fingers trace over the small diamonds set into the band of the ring. In the background, the green room television plays a livestream of the press conference, and Pepper doesn’t realize that he’s left the notecards in a pile on the floor until he pauses in the middle of his response to a question. Tony stares directly into the camera with a confident smirk. 

“The truth is… I am Iron Man.”

The reporters burst into a head-splitting clamor. Tony stands behind the podium with a charming smile as cameras flash. Amidst the madness, he must manage to pull out his cellphone because Pepper’s phone buzzes on the table with a text from him.

_And… I’m gonna be a dad, too!_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that was fun! i'm seriously considering writing a sequel (by which i mean i have already written 40k words... lmao). if that's something you'd be interested in, i'd love to hear from you - or your thoughts on the fic in general!! if i do end up committing to the sequel, i'll make this a series so it should be all linked up and easy to find. it might be a bit because i fear that it is going to be a MASSIVE fic. anyways, thanks for sticking with me!


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